Children of Cain
by Miss-DNL
Summary: A simple question causes Risotto Nero to remember a promise he made to a boy that saved his life, changing the series of events that were to unfold. In effort to make up for his lapse of memory, Giorno Giovanna, gets taken in by the hitman. His dream remains the same but with added desire for revenge and a fierce desire to protect his new family. Can fate be bested?
1. Chapter 1 Until it Sleeps

_"It grips you so hold me_  
_It stains you so hold me_  
_It hates you so hold me_  
_It holds you so hold me"_

"Hey leader."

Said leader of the Execution Squadron, Risotto Nero, looked up from a laptop to Formaggio, who sat on the couch across from him. Unsaid cue to go on taken, he tilted his head inquiringly, "Is that a bullet wound scar?" Formaggio motioned towards his abdominal area with a finger, "How'd that happen? Got to have been before your got your stand, right?"

Risotto turned his dark eyes towards the faint, faded scar. Left exposed with his trench coat being pulled back. He hadn't thought about the incident in a long while, he'd nearly forgotten about it. The mark being so faint and typically hidden.

Illuso, Sorbet, Gelato, and Pesci keyed into the conversation from their respective places around the room. The Prosciutto simply glanced momentarily before continuing to clean blood off his necklace's pendant. He'd known Risotto longer than the rest and already knew of the moment in question.

With more eyes on him, their leader began to divulge, "Yes, it had been a years before I gained my stand and only a couple of years after I began my career as a hitman. My skilled had yet to be refined. The incident nearly killed me."

Sorbet's expression shifted in surprise and remarked, "Hard to imagine you in such a position, but I've only known you with your stand. How'd you make it out of there?"

"A child directed my pursuers away from me." Risotto answered, tone vacant of reflection though his mind replayed the event.

The boy, Giorno Giovanna, as he later found his name to be, had saved him with a simple gesture and lie. There'd been a strange look of understanding in his eyes while the rest of the expression was oddly composed for a child. The reason for it was unfortunate to say the least, the boy's life hadn't been the best-he understood what helplessness felt like. Risotto used what influence and means he had, at the time, to improve the child's life, but it had been some time since then. The location of the boy's home was out of the way from his team's headquarters and his job left him on the move often, or busy managing his men.

However, location of his current target though, would leave him an opportunity once it was complete. Said target wouldn't be much of a hassle, simply a member of a newly formed nuisance of a mafia group. Highly unlikely to have a stand to challenge his Metallica. Without one to oppose, his would make it simple for him to take out his target and leave spare time take a stop to Giorno's home.

His thoughts were put on hold when his men questioned him further. Nothing critical of him, simply curious and he explained. They were all murders, killers, cruel and ruthless to varying degrees, but they all held respect and loyalty to one another. Most of all their leader. If it wasn't for this child, he wouldn't be here with them. This drew more intrigue from them than prior. Even more so when Risotto divulged his perceived debt to the boy and the efforts, he'd made, to better his life. While nothing was said, but the assassins shared the sentiment of their leader. Of course, anything coming of it was unlikely. Giorno's name never came up, Risotto felt no need to share it, and they knew nothing of his appearance. It was a novel sentiment if anything.

Eventually said novelty wore off, the assassins went back to whatever they had been doing prior and time continued on. Prosciutto and Pesci left back to their home. Formaggio began a game of cards when Sorbet and Gelato, the three having drinks while exchanging banter. Illuso slipped back into the mirror world. To do what or why, he didn't say, nor was it considered need to know by the ones that remained in their headquarters. Illuso had always had a habit of leaving unannounced.

Risotto quietly plotted out his course of action in eliminating his target-and anyone else that got in the way, as ordered. Those playing cards made no attempt to draw him into their game, knowing it'd be denied in favor of work. While it was a simple hit in his mind, Risotto had long learned from his near fatal incident. It wouldn't happen again, and it hadn't since. He closed the laptop when he found the plan to be satisfactory, drew himself up to his full height, and stalked to the door. He gave a farewell to his comrades for the time being, they returned it, and the door was shut.

* * *

Air, heavily labored with the all too familiar smell of iron, was rattled by guttural, pained, gasp and a choked, clogged, yell. Risotto stood back, hidden by his Metallica's invisibility technique, and watched apathetically as his main target hacked up razorblades. The sight was horridly grotesque, but after years of seeing similar sights the effect had longed dulled to him. He'd done similar to a couple of cohorts of his target, of which lay dead elsewhere in the building. His target had gone to see what the ghastly sounding commotion was, when screws suddenly erupted from his hand.

The shock caused him to stumble back into the room, allowing Risotto to enter. The closer he was to his target the quicker Metallica was able produce objects. The man had been too, understandably, terrified to notice his entrance, though Risotto doubted he'd be perceptive enough regardless. Those with stands had difficulty detecting him often enough. One without wouldn't be able to reason what was happening-as his target currently was, in the drastically shriveling remainder of his life.

Metallica continued its work, forming more razorblades from a distance from within its user's very veins. Eventually, enough had been created that the man's throat was utterly shredded, and he collapsed, dead, in a sizable pool of his own blood.

From where he stood, Risotto looked over his work, undoubtedly the criminal was dead. Even if he had faint traces of life left, he'd pass soon enough, with his throat torn asunder as it was. Satisfied and mission completed, he turned and left the room. Risotto paid little mind to the corpses that he passed by and exited out the back. He'd arrived while other cohorts were out to grab some food, he'd observed as much during his days casing their hideout. They likely wouldn't be back for a while longer, but it was best to avoid chance altogether.

As expected, the job had been easy. A scratch hadn't been laid on him, as expected of the execution squad's leader. He'd completed his task with time to spare. More than enough to make a quick side visit. Once he reported his completed task.

The time spent typing away on his laptop, in his hotel room, allowed Risotto to think on what he was about to do. Before he gained Metallica and joined Passione, he checked in on Giorno often enough, to ensure the work he'd done remained. Even some time after gaining his stand, he continued the trend; however, as he gained men his time dwindled quickly. He had others under his care and management. Work piled and their unsteady income made things difficult to manage funds. Much as he felt guilt towards it, Giorno had faded from his mind. Some may think he was fretting over nothing, Risotto found it disgraceful. So long as he lived, he owed the boy. He knew he couldn't be there on the day to day, or even weekly, but when time was available, he should've checked in. He'd sworn he'd never forget what he'd done, yet he had.

It was an error he would correct today. He just hoped the child hadn't moved since his last check-in. Risotto sent his report and leaned back in his chair, it was getting late, he'd find out tomorrow.

_The children are still playing nice_. Risotto thought as he watched, once more invisible, the former bullies walk home alongside Giorno. The boy had grown but was still recognizable by the assassin. The dark hair and, uncharacteristically, stoic expression for a child were an easy give away. Sadly, he could relate to the reason why, being exposed to how harsh life could be early on would force such a development-especially at the hands of pitiful excuses for caregivers. Of which, was his main concern. The neglectful mother and abusive father.

He followed the group of children from a good distance across the street. Occasionally having to weave out of the way of bystanders or take detours before catching up again. Tedious but doable for the assassin. As he'd hoped, the home location hadn't changed. Good, that made things easier. By then the other children had departed to their own homes, leaving Giorno to head inside on his own. When the door was shut, Risotto turned his attention to the building next to it. The home wasn't on the first floor, so he'd have to do a bit of climbing which was manageable with his own physical strength. The natural magnetism his stand gave off, helped his grasp stay firmly on the metal balcony bars while he climbed.

Still invisible, and further hidden in the shade, he observed the goings on of the home through the open curtain window. The home was, thankfully, not in disrepair and serviceably clean, at least from what he could see. A brief scan around what was visible and observation, from Giorno not greeting anyone, told him neither of his parents were home. He frowned, the father he could understand; he had work, the mother, far as he knew, did not. She was possibly off gallivanting again. To avoid jumping to conclusions, he remained where he was and watched from balcony. His perch was maintained so the home was occupied, an ashtray sat mounted on the railing suggested a frequent smoker. He'd likely have to leave upon their arrival home.

As Risotto sat, he reflected to himself, while waiting for something of interest to occur. Thus far, Giorno had made food for himself and gone to his room. Family trouble was something not unfamiliar to the assassin.

He, himself, hadn't known his biological parents or at least not that he could remember. At a young age he was given to his relatives, where he grew up with his cousin who became a sister to him. His surrogate parents were similar in ways to Giorno's. It was also through his uncle he learned of the mafia, he'd not been a part of Passione-which had yet to form, and lacked a stand, but was a criminal, nonetheless. He was strict, at times nearly harsh, but not unfair. Risotto could say he respected him, but their relationship lacked any warmth or real connection. He was treated more as an obligation. His aunt was harsher, words often came in yells or a swing of a wooden spoon. She'd never seen him as her own. He was always at fault for something. His uncle rarely intervened, Risotto never learned of his position, but it was enough that he was gone frequently.

It was his cousin that was the light of his life at the time, she was kind and caring. Comforted him when he needed it and got him out of the home to enjoy life, to have fun. She kept things bearable for him, she was the one he could call family. When he turned ten, their uncle left and never came back, later he was found dead. Risotto recalled not being surprise. It was to be expected when one dealt with the underworld of society. However, it made things notably worse for him. They had lost a significant source of income making his aunt more easily agitated and begin to drink. She worked at produce store, where he and his cousin had to pitch in with her from then on. They adjusted to the new norm eventually. Until the light of his life was extinguished.

Risotto recalled it too vividly for his likely, even as time had passed. It wasn't a moment he revisited often, yet recalled with near pristine clarity. It was late at night, he and his cousin had to run a last-minute errand for their demanding, drunk aunt. He, then fourteen, and her had gone together for safety. They had the bought items with no trouble and went to cross the road. She ran across and he'd stopped, a loud screech stunned him in place. Everything after happened quickly. By the time he realized what'd the sound had been from…the words of warning formed in his throat. Only to been caught in place but a deafening slam of car against body. His body went ridged and the blood drained from his face.

Fact the hit had resulted in the driver crashing into the side of a building, didn't register to him as he stared at the smear of blood on the asphalt in front of him. His hands clenched reflexively in present, the visage of his cousin's mangled body coming to the forefront of his mind. His young body trembled uncontrollably before he screamed her name, Arborio. Tears streamed and he ran to her body, she was already gone. Bystanders pulled him away, attempting to comfort him, but he'd gone deaf as he tried to process how and why she'd been taken from him.

A car door opening snapped him back to reality, followed shortly by rage. The drunkard had survived the crash, completely oblivious to the innocent life he'd taken. The ones that'd been attempting to comfort him had to restrain him when he attempted to charge the man. Risotto screamed his anger out until his throat was became sore and grief overwhelmed him, bringing him to his knees. A numbness took over by the time police arrived, taking the murder away. Risotto watched the car leave in a cold silence. He knew he wasn't going get enough punishment for this, a few measly years in prison. Then he'd be free to continue life as if nothing had happened.

When his aunt arrived to get him, he didn't register her presence until she took his arm to escort him back home. Things were quietly somber for some time afterwards. The funeral came and went, condolences meant nothing to Risotto. His aunt became kinder to him, why now? Because he was all she had left? It filled his him with a conflicted bitterness. Perhaps he could've come to accept that she'd realized some error, if she hadn't started to drink more.

The sight of coming home to her drinking one day he recalled well, he'd flung into a rage. How could she sink to the same low as the man that'd killed Arborio? An argument escalated between the two. A bottle was tossed at him. It narrowly missed his head. Glass shards sliced the side of his face. Silence filled air as blood trickled down the side of his face.

Risotto remembered the hot venomous in his veins as he ground out words between clenched teeth, "If you hadn't been drunk that night. We wouldn't have had to go out. It's your fault she died."

Risotto knew now that was unfair to say, he'd allowed anger to choose his words for him. He'd heard her sobbing after he shut himself away in his room.

As expected, the drunk driver got sentenced to jail for four years. Throughout the trial Risotto had glared at the man, he saw no remorse. He'd pleaded guilty, there was no point in denial the evidence was too great. It was then that Risotto decided, once he was free, he'd kill the man. If he held no remorse, then he'd bare no forgiveness.

The muted sound of a door being opened from the within home behind him, yanked Risotto back to the present. How long had it been? Difficult to tell. He briskly scanned the windows of Giorno's home, no signs of the parents. Agitation brushed against his nerves, but he restrained judgement, both could be at work still. Risotto looked through the large paned windows of the balcony doors. The male occupant unfortunately made an immediate B-line for his location. No time wasted, the assassin climbed over the railing and let himself drop down to the alley bellow. By the time the man was on the balcony the assassin was back across the street, leaving him none the wiser to his ever being there.

_I'll return later after work-hours have passed_. Risotto decided inwardly as he headed his way back to his hotel.

* * *

Sound of a leather belt striking against skin cut through the air. Giorno winced again under the force, arms up in attempt to shield himself. He knew this wouldn't do much good, it'd only encourage insults towards his perceived cowardice, but it was a reflex he couldn't help. The berating was more of the same he'd heard before. The man had gotten upset with his trying to read him. For a few years, things had been peaceful. His father more often restrained himself, though was clearly unhappy to do so and convinced his mother to be around more. Then, after some time since last seeing the gangster he'd saved, gradually things devolved to the way they had been. Only the children and other locals remained friendly towards him. In fact, the guardianship of the gangster seemed to have angered his father-in-law.

A half-stifled yelp bubbled from Giorno as he was picked up by the shirt collar dragged across the room, "Get to your room, you creepy little brat." At that he yanked the boy forward, causing him to tumble out of the room. As the child pulled himself up the father scoffed, "Seemed that bastard didn't care about you after all, now get out of my sight."

Giorno gave one last look to the man before he quietly escorted himself back to his room. His father in-law grunted to himself sat back down on the table, grumbling that he'd had to make a meal for himself. His wife was honestly lucky she was so good-looking, or he wouldn't put up with her staying out as late as she did. She'd come home then gotten a call from a friend and went right back out. A part time job, she hardly went to, was the best he could get from her, housework was infrequently done, but that's where the kid was useful at least.

Light suddenly was blocked out behind him, caused the father-in-law to go ridged and to drop his utensils. Thoughts questioning when and how were interrupted by a distinctly familiar, deep voice. "One would think that an adult could manage to follow set rules while unsupervised. Seemed I gave you too much credit."

Behind him, Risotto Nero, sat leaned back on the window frame, his legs keeping him propped up. He observed the faux parental caregiver before him as he stood stock still, jaw agape in building fear. Before even a question of when or how could piece together in his mind, a blistering pain erupted from his right shoulder. Right after, Risotto's hand clamped down on his mouth. The window and the table weren't far from each other, but the suddenness of the events made it seem unreal and all the more alarming. His heart was already pounding loudly enough to reach his eardrums, paired with just as quick, frantic breaths.

"I warned you not to break the rules of our agreement. You won't be receiving another chance." Risotto's voice sounded leveled and calm, but internally his blood was boiling. This man had used his mistake to verbally wound Giorno. It'd been bad enough that he'd made the error in the first place, but having it used in such a manner had decided the man's fate. Originally, he was going to just berate him, threaten him and use Metallica to show him he wouldn't tolerate further disobedience. That plan of action was long forgone.

The Father-in-law attempted to pull the man's hand off his mouth, whether to scream or try and reason he didn't know. Unfortunately for him, Risotto was strong enough keep hold and wrench one of his prying arms backwards in a painful manner. Panic skyrocketed when he began to feel _something forming in his throat_. Something thin, long, and sharp. Gradually he could feel it cutting its way through muscle, veins and arteries. Muted sounds of panic and gags pushed their way through the assassin's hand. Blood followed shortly behind what looked to be a box-cutter's blade that sprung up from the jugular. A brief spray of blood flew into the air. His victim's airway clogged with blood Risotto released the father-in-law from his grip, allowing him to crumple onto the floor. Several nails expedited the death by piercing through from within the crook of the neck. The man choked to death on his own blood before he bled out at the foot of the table, a look of shocked horror frozen on his face.

Risotto took the napkin from the table, careful not to touch anything but it, and wiped the blood off his hands. As he cleaned of a small splatter of blood on his face, resulted from the boxcutter blade, he examined the items from the screws in throat and shoulder to the blade to be sure they were up to his standard of craft. Satisfied with their make, he deposited the bloodied napkin into his coat pocket.

That taken care for, he turned his eyes towards the hallway. This, wasn't what he had planned, but there was no turning back now.

* * *

Giorno sat at his desk, going over school studies in order to distract himself from his stomach gnawing at itself. He really didn't need to, his was doing well in all of his classes. He needed to. Otherwise his father would become ever more upset with him, no matter if it was a test or not, as it made him look bad. Or he'd claim that bad marks upset, worried his mother. Giorno knew that wasn't true, young as he was, he hardly knew his mother. There was no connection between him and his parents, no bond, no love, nothing. He was a stranger living in household that didn't want him here. Much as he kept a neutral expression, it hurt deeply in the roots of his core that desired acceptance and parental affections. Like any child would. He'd tried to gain approval to no response or worse yet, negative response. His father wanted nothing to do with him, he wasn't "his" son and his mother, at best, used him as a show piece while in public. When at home he felt more like a pet-a nuisance.

At times he'd contemplated running away, but where would he go? He knew his "friends" were only being kind due to some sort of incitement from the mafia. Perhaps some sort of earnest feelings had come of it over time, but Giorno couldn't forget the torment they'd inflicted on him. How much like scum they'd made him feel. No, he couldn't turn to them if he ran away. He didn't know where the gangster he'd saved live, he didn't even know his name, and only had a vague idea of his face.

He was alone still. He was stuck here.

Giorno shifted as hunger became insistent again. He wondered how long his father would stay awake tonight. Likely until his mother returned, then they'd go into their room together. While they were busy, he could probably finally get something to eat.

The young boy blinked at the sounds of footsteps nearing his room. He looked over his shoulder at the plain wooden door to his room. The stride of the footsteps was unfamiliar. Over the years, he'd become very familiar with the pattern of his father's gait. In order to get a read of his mood before he opened the door.

This was a completely different person. It had to be. The stride sounded notably longer than his father's. A longer stride meant a taller person. It definitely wasn't his mother, who always had the distinct click of high heels. Giorno shifted carefully to face the door, he hadn't heard anyone enter their home. He was certain he'd have heard the front door open or at least his father' address a visitor. This had to be an intruder of some kind. The fact he hadn't heard his father react in anyway was far from a good sign.

Giorno started to tremble, he was helpless, alone, and afraid again.

"Who's there?" He managed to keep his words steady enough, but a child's voice wasn't assertive whatsoever.

Once the footsteps stopped on the other side of his doorway, there was a momentary pause before the door began to open. The time it took was longer than it should've been. Drawn out by the anxious fear of a child. His trembling seized up, when the darkly clad form of a tall man filled the open doorway. He didn't recognize this man, yet something about his presence seemed oddly familiar. Quick as he could get himself to, Giorno took in aspects of the intruder in attempt to find the trigger of this feeling.

The person was easily fix feet tall, broad shouldered and clearly muscular, showcased by the exposed chest. The physical difference was not comforting, nor was the fact he had no tools within reach to attempt to defend himself. However, the man didn't seem to have any weapons, but the black trench he wore could be hiding something. His eyes were next drawn to his face. It looked vaguely familiar, but the silver hair and dark eyes contradicted that feeling. Giorno was certain he'd recall such unique traits. This left him uncertainly staring at the man from behind the back of his chair.

"It's been some time, Giorno." The baritone voice of the man, caused something to click in Giorno's mind. His fear began to flee from him. As he walked further into his room he felt more at ease as he spoke, memories beginning to return. "Forgive me for not checking in as a frequently as I used to."

Giorno stared up at the man as he neared, fear washed away by recognition. It was the mafioso he'd saved. His brow knitted in slight confusion, he was unsure whether he'd recalled his hair and eye color incorrectly or something had changed. He decided it was unimportant. Giorno was certain that this was the man that'd changed his life for the better. He'd recalled the voice well from his times of revisiting the fateful memory, helped by the distinctness of it.

"You look different…" Giorno noted, unsure of what else to say. He wanted to say a lot of things, ask things. His current focus won over more pressing words.

The man knelt down to his eye level, causing the black coat to spill out onto the floor around him. Giorno's eyes flicked around, taking in the details of his guardian's face, as well as the jester hat he wore. He found that the orbs at the end of the hat tails bared letters, but he didn't see which ones as the man spoke again. His attention to shift away. His voice was even but bared an underlying softness, "Things have changed, since we last saw each other."

A pause spaced out his sentences. It seemed he was trying to figure a way of properly putting what he had next to say. "Giorno, I know you're wondering why I'm here." Giorno nodded. The man gave his explanation, a gentle pressure added to his tone. "I want you to come with me."

Giorno's expression and posture became more alert. This was something he'd faintly wished for, but felt would never come to be after accepting his distant behavior. His elation halted/ The connection between why he hadn't heard his father prior to his guardian's arrival, and why he still hadn't, was made.

"What did you do to my father?" Giorno asked quietly, eyes meeting the other's black and red ones.

The gangster's expression didn't shift whatsoever. His voice remained calm, "He can't hurt you anymore."

Giorno said nothing but indiscernible emotion filled his eyes. His guardian's tone reflected something similar, an earnest plea just below the surface of his tone that faltered the collected demeanor. He continued, "Your parents have disrespected your life with selfishness for their own, broken your trust with abuse and neglect. I owe you my life, Giorno. I will for as long as I'm breathing. You showed respect for my life and in turn I did to yours. I promised not to forget what you did for me, but I lapsed in my promise. Let me correct that mistake, to do that I ask you to trust me."

No answer was said but was still given then the form of the young child latching onto the gangster's neck. Worries of having been forgotten by the one person he felt cared for him had been proven wrong in spades. Now he could leave this cold home devoid of care that he had no attachment to. Overwhelmed with emotion he began to silently cry tears he hadn't know he'd been holding in. Between tears he managed to ask something he'd been longing to know,

"What's your name?"

"Risotto Nero."

* * *

**Author Notes:**

_Been a LONG time since I've posted anything on this site. Anyhow, but this AU was inspired by Reversalsun's "Story of Assassins" fic. Risotto Nero is my favorite from part 5, though that is my favorite part so far so I love it in general, so the idea of him being the gangster Giorno saved is amazing to me. If you like La Squadra and want a scenario go check out their story! _

_I was inspired to make my own take on it, of course taking it in a different direction. So this is kind of a what if Giorno was a part of La Squadra Di Esecuzione? I also took the chance to expand on Risotto's backstory a bit from what was given in the manga. I have ideas for a good chunk of the members and how they'd tie to why they're so loyal to Risotto as I like the thought of him being a Dad to the them, like Bruno is a Mom._

Oh, and the title is a reference to Marilyn Manson's song **Children of Cain.** Gotta keep with the musical references! Cain is the first murderer in the bible so I felt it fit with the part's religious notes, and La Squadra being hitmen/murderers.


	2. Chapter 2 Unforgiven

_"New blood joins this earth_  
_And quickly he's subdued_  
_Through constant pain disgrace_  
_The young boy learns their rules_  
_With time the child draws in_  
_This whipping boy done wrong_  
_Deprived of all his thoughts_  
_The young man struggles on and on he's known_  
_A vow unto his own_  
_That never from this day_  
_His will they'll take away"_

_"Gather what you need then meet me in the living room. Don't go into the dining room."_

Giorno knew why he wasn't to go into the dining room. That was where his father's body was. As he gathered the things he needed, or didn't want to leave behind. Giorno wondered, why did he feel…nothing? It was like there was an empty hole in his life now. Once filled by that man. The man that had been in his life for as long as he could remember. His sudden removal was taking time to process. He'd just been with him minutes before. Despite the clear implication that Risotto had indeed killed him, a flitter of disbelief remained. A small part of him felt that if he were to leave this room, he'd still be there to yell at him and force him to go back into his room.

His hand paused as he was about to grab another of his shirts from a drawer. Was that why he felt so off? It was difficult to tell. His mind was still a hive of various details that had occurred one after another.

After the last of his clothes, that he wanted to take, were neatly packed into his backpack Giorno's eyes drifted back to his door Risotto had left through. The fact he knew his name was almost fantastical, he'd never thought he'd learn it. Now, he was going to take him in. Take him away from this place. Not to mention killed his father…there was too much to process at once, but he had a more solid feeling about this particular detail.

He _wanted_ to go with him. He _wanted_ to leave.

Refreshed in his resolve, Giorno packed quicker.

* * *

Risotto's usually methodical and collected mind was, similarly, flooded in thoughts as he returned to the dining room. He'd sincerely and earnestly hoped things had held over from his previous visit. That the parents were still behaving as they should be. Whether or not the few locals he'd paid were still being generous was relatively inconsequential, as they had less of a direct impact in Giorno's life. The sight of the kids still being friendly had given him hope that what he'd done had remained in his absence. Of course, that hadn't turned out not to be.

Metallica's cries rose in his mind like a backup chorus to his emotions, anger simmered in his veins again when the corpse came back into view. Risotto admitted to himself, he'd killed Giorno's father-in-law out of anger. He hadn't like the man since he found out of his abuse towards Giorno-for not being his son. It struck a worn nerve in him.

Then to have him throw his mistake in his face? He'd snapped and acted, driven on emotional impulse. Something, he hadn't done in a long time. Not since his first kill. Though, at least, that time he'd planned for that one. His execution had just been more…passionate, than expected.

Regardless, Risotto was sure the murder wouldn't be traced to him. Even if authorities did find out that he'd been killed by items tearing their way out of him, there'd be slim to no chances of them finding out how. Giorno being taken couldn't be linked back to him either. No one knew of their fateful meeting-least no one he was aware of. Passione had a habit of finding out things they shouldn't know. The gang always knew. Even still, the gang likely wouldn't care. If anything it'd be taken as an eventual recruit.

Even still, he felt so uncertain about what he was doing. He'd wanted to avoid Giorno getting involved with this lifestyle. A life taking the lives of others was not a good one, to say the least. The child's life had been hard enough early on, joining the underworld would only make it worse. Now, with him taking Giorno in? It was nearly unavoidable.

He could, at best, hold it off till he was older. Preferably till he was an adult and better fit to handle what societies underbelly would throw at him.

Even after going over the thoughts in his head, Risotto's feelings were unresolved while he pilfered the father's wallet from his pocket. Might as well get some extra funds if he was going to raise a child. He was sure to wear his black leather gloves, that were on his person, before doing so. Risotto flipped the wallet open with his thumb, extracted the money from inside, and tossed the remains back onto the body.

His mind kept reminding himself of the fact that he, an assassin; with who knows how many bodies to his career, was going to raise a child-while he took what valuables he could from around the home. All of which were put into a bag he found in the parent's room. It was a carry-on bag, allowing him to take more than originally thought he'd be able to. He might actually keep this for himself for later missions.

Risotto stopped himself, he was side tracking himself from the fact of the matter. He was going to have to raise a child. Aside from the essentials, he didn't know the first thing about child rearing. It was the exact opposite of his job. He was proficient in taking lives, not helping one properly develop. He exhaled shallowly. This was a whole new territory for him.

He looked around the home, as if some pointer or answer would show itself. Nothing did.

Enough stalling, Risotto told himself. He'd gathered enough, time to move on. The sight of the dinner plate on the table; however, caused him to take a brief detour into the kitchen before he headed to meet up with his new ward.

When he arrived back in the living room he saw Giorno was on the couch, staring at a photo of his family that was on the wall next to it. The boy didn't notice his arrival. His footsteps were very quiet despite his stature, due to sheer practice. Invisibility was effective, but not if his movements were clumsy and loud.

The sight of the father in the picture reminded him he'd forgotten to break down the metal constructs he'd created. A pang of indignation flickered in his emotions. He could leave the kill odd but not right outlandish, that could draw too much attention to it. Risotto rounded the room and raised a hand in the air, Metallica's cries strengthened as it went to work. In the dining room, the nails and box cutter blade began to seemingly dissolve into a silver liquid before being reassimilated into the blood and corpse. The end result was still a gored body but was like the objects had never existed in the first place.

Risotto looked back to the child as his hand drifted back to his side. He looked to be deep in thought, almost transfixed on the photo. On his back was a school bag and another bag sat next to him. He was ready to leave. At least, looked that way, but the focus on the photo suggested otherwise.

Giorno's expression was blank, devoid of emotion. As a child it made him look sedated or uncanny. Usually Risotto didn't have trouble reading people, the ones he did were few and far between. Sorbet was one, he was rather analytical about things and didn't let emotions that he didn't want shown stray to the surface. It was a part of why him and Risotto got along so well. The other was Illuso on occasion but even then it was usually a tell something was on his mind. What it was exactly was the tedious part to sus out.

For a child to accomplish this was almost unnatural, but Risotto reminded himself this had resulted from his upbringing. It had been necessary for him to learn to be this way, in order to avoid as much abuse as possible.

"Do you want to take the photo with you?" His voice finally got the boy to take his eyes off the family portrait. If only for a moment, before he looked back and spoke but didn't answer the assassin's question.

"That's a photo we took when mother and I first moved here after their marriage." Giorno explained. He didn't wait for Risotto to respond and continued, "Two days after father started to hit me. Before that I noticed he was acting different towards me. He mentioned how he'd wanted kids of his own, even though I was there. He snapped at me over small things. I thought I'd done something wrong, but I didn't understand what…He'd been nice to me before he married my Mom…"

Risotto stood in silence as the kid poured out his thoughts to him. He glanced to the door, he couldn't hear anyone approaching, for now. So long as he felt they were in the clear, he'd let him work through his thoughts. The smoother Giorno felt about this the better.

"He was using me to get together with mother," Giorno looked back to Risotto, hurt beginning to show through cracks in his expression as he asked, "wasn't he?"

"Seems that way." Risotto answered with a somber undertone.

Giorno looked down, taking the answer in, before he looked back to the assassin, "Are you going to kill my Mom?"

The change in subject taken in stride, Risotto's answer was almost offhanded, "She isn't present at the moment."

His neither yes nor no answer was received as well as his previous response. Giorno took a moment to process it then spoke again as he got up, "I'm ready to go."

There was a brief pause. Risotto asked, "And the photo?"

Giorno merely shook his head.

Risotto nodded and went over to the child, as he picked up his second bag, knelt down and picked him up. Giorno was surprised by this but didn't fight it. The assassin felt the child's eyes on him as he walked them over to the balcony door, clearly curious about what he was going to do. They couldn't exit through the front door. The halls could have cameras. He could try and turn them both invisible, but the bags would be difficult without excess iron material to work with. Not that it would likely tire him out quickly, trying to hold all of that at once. Keeping himself invisible was simple. Another person he hadn't done before. He was sure he could, but he was uncertain of how long it'd hold. He didn't want to risk exhausting himself while carrying the child.

However, he got an idea as he opened the balcony door. He'd enact his plan once they were on the ground floor. He turned his dark eyes to Giorno, "Hold on."

Giorno eyes widen a moment as he realized what they were about to do. He gripped onto the adult and nodded curtly. Risotto blinked, inwardly a bit surprised by the amount of trust given. They were about to drop down from a considerable height and he was willing to go with it. Mentally he shook himself from the stupor. Risotto swung himself over to the side of the rail, lowered himself to the bottom and dropped down. He joints stung momentarily from the landing, but he straightened himself out and walked it off. He'd prepared himself and had practice enough that the damage was minimized far as it could be. The drop hadn't been that far up, dangerous only if someone didn't have a clue how to do it properly.

"I'm going to need you to stay quiet till I reach my car. I'll explain how later." He began to move the bags he was carrying around in his hands.

Giorno stayed quiet as told and waited to see what he was going to do exactly. The jump down had been a brief thrill for him, so he was curious to see what else the assassin had up his sleeve. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Giorno felt something strange go over the surface of his skin. It wasn't breeze. A strange ghostly sensation that enveloped him then was instantaneously gone. To Giorno's surprise, he couldn't see himself anymore. His mouth hung open a moment, but right after closed it upon recalling Risotto's instruction.

With proper positioning of the belongings and him being invisible, Risotto appeared to be merely carrying bags. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The walk to the car went on for a while. Giorno watched as other people walked right by them, not even giving Risotto a passing glance. Assured of his invisibility he relaxed and enjoyed the ride. He couldn't ever recall his father carrying him like this, perhaps his mother did when he was very young, but all he could recall from that time was dark nights left alone. Him terrified, gnawing on his nails in a dark room, wanting comfort that wouldn't come. He still had trouble with dark rooms at night. They brought him back to those memories, as if he was reliving them all over again.

This brought forth the question of would his mother care he was gone? Would she be upset to see he'd been taken away by a killer? Or would she be glade he was no longer her concern? The train of thought began to build a welling feeling of distress in him. Out of reflex he clung closer to Risotto to get some form of comfort. The action caused the assassin to glance at him, but with the boy being invisible he was unable to see his tense expression. Mind flooded with revelation, Giorno sorted through the thoughts in search of how to handle it. Neither of his caregivers ever wanted him, but now, now he was free of them.

Why should he let himself be guilted over getting a new chance at life, with a new guardian that showed care and appreciation for him? He _wouldn't_. He _wasn't_ going to let the thought of them ruin his new lease on life.

His emotions didn't lift completely, but Giorno was able to relax for the remainder of being carried.

* * *

The car ride to the hotel was quiet. Giorno sat in the backseat, watching the buildings go by. Occasionally he'd look at the rearview mirror to look at the driver, Risotto. The man would then notice, look back for a moment, then focus on driving. They'd been doing this off and on, back and forth between the two of them. It wasn't from tension, or awkwardness, neither of them seemed to know what to make of the sudden new situation. Silently they both acknowledged this. Less frequently than himself, Giorno had seen Risotto glance back at him through the mirror but never lingered longer than that.

"Risotto," The driver hummed that he'd heard, prompting Giorno to continue, "I don't feel anything for father's death…is that, how I'm supposed to feel?"

A pause lingered in the air as the assassin thought over how to respond. His emotions towards death had been numbed for years. The last recollection of him feeling anything over a loss was former comrades that died during their missions. He recalled the sting, but even then, he hardly knew the man. By then, Risotto had learned to tell whether a new member would stick, simple tells like sloppiness, frequent injury, lack of skill refinement, etc. There was a "trial period" of time before he and the other members of La Squadra would bother to get to know new members. After all, death was a part of their job. It was senseless to try and get to know people if they couldn't last a few months. Further, it prevented the death of new recruits from effecting the other's performance in their own missions.

Giorno however was not a seasoned hitman. The look of turmoil in his eyes was muted, kept mostly below the surface, but still evident. Far as Risotto could tell, the boy was taking things well…as a child of his age could. He had expected the boy to question how he'd turned invisible, but he'd seemed preoccupied with his thoughts. Unsure how to appropriately coax the thoughts out, he waited. Thankfully, it paid off.

"Did you ever feel anything for him?" Risotto responded. His tone level but softened to hopefully help the child. The result wasn't immediate but Giorno did speak again. His voice quiet, if it wasn't for the quiet air in the car Risotto might've had trouble hearing him otherwise.

"I wanted to once…but I wasn't his son." Giorno stared down at the floor of the car. The hurt and longing was evident.

Risotto took a moment to nod, he understood that a little too well. "Then how you feel is fair. He gave you no care, leaving nothing to grieve over." A faint, ghost of a smile settled itself onto the child's face. The reassurance doing its work to settle the boy. Dark eyes turned back to the road he added, "That aside, you weren't the one to kill him. The blood isn't on your hands."

Giorno nodded. He didn't bother to question if Risotto felt anything about killing his step-father. Still the child felt curiosity prompt him to ask, "Have you ever felt like that? Felt nothing for a death, but should've?"

"Yes, once." Risotto answered to the boy's surprise. Predicting the child would want him to elaborate, he added, "It was my first kill."

A vision of blood everywhere. Him hunched over a body, knife in hand, in a dark alley way. His breath ragged while covered in sweat from over exertion. The night he got his revenge on the man that murdered Arborio.

There must have been some remanence of tension in his voice as Giorno got the cue not to press further into the subject. Or perhaps he noticed his grip on the steering wheel tighten slightly. Either or, the boy changed the subject to the one Risotto had first anticipated.

"Oh," a short pause, "You, said you'd explain how you turned me invisible."

Risotto's stiff hold on the wheel lightened back to normal, mind preoccupied with a less sore subject, "I possess what is called a stand. Said to be the personification of the soul or fighting spirit. It grants me abilities over iron. I used it to manipulate the iron in your body to reflect light, making you invisible."

"Are there other's with stands?" Giorno expression shifted in curious awe. An improvement over his previous muted and conflicted one.

"Yes, all of Passione possess stands." Risotto answered with a nod.

"How do you get a stand?" The boy sat up straighter, his intrigue now in full effect and display.

Risotto knew the reason behind it, he'd noticed the boy's interest in the criminal underworld. It'd been part of the reason he'd kept his distance. It was no place for a child. However, with the current situation, it was unavoidable. So he had no reason to hide the ways of how a stand is gained. Though he was unsure of the chance of Giorno getting one himself. If he did gain one, by whatever means, it was more likely for the better.

"There are a variety of ways," Risotto began, "some have it since birth, some gain it through their bloodline. If one member of a family gains one the others have a chance of manifesting their own. Most members of Passione gain their stands through being pierced by an arrow during the initiation test."

"An arrow?" Giorno blinked in confusion. Surely it had to be special in some way, but he was unable to think of what exactly.

Risotto thought back to when he first joined and spoke with the Capo that welcomed him into the gang, who later appointed him the head of the execution squadron. "I am not fully aware of its origins. Capo Plopo said that it'd been uncovered in Egypt. How it works and why, I am unsure."

Giorno took note of the information he'd just been given. Would he be able to gain a stand? The fact that the entrance exam gave the possibility of one held promise, but that would have to wait for now. "Was that how you gained your stand?"

"No, it manifested during a hit. Prior I'd been noticing odd occurrences but thought nothing of it." That was another moment Risotto recalled with clear clarity.

Naturally it'd be shocking for anyone to see various, warped, bits of metal to burst forth from someone's skin out of nowhere. The sight right after had been the man hacking up sharp, shrapnel-like bits of metal before he collapsed on the ground, twitching until death took hold. Unused to such sights, that'd become commonplace soon, he'd sat against a wall, injured, gun clutched in hand, shocked.

"So you were born with one?" Giorno probed. He then tilted his head to the side, about to ask another question, when a pang of discomfort came from his stomach. This went ignored in favor of feeding his desire to better understand these supernatural gifts, "Why are they called stands?"

"The potential for one." Risotto corrected. When Giorno gave a shift of discomfort and glance towards his middle he pointed off to the side with his left hand, "In the bag I took, there's some food for you."

A look of surprise flashed across Giorno's face before he pulled over the carry-on bag from the seat beside him. With a bit of searching he pulled out a plastic bag that had an apple, tangerine, and a bottled water.

"It should hold you over till we get to the hotel." Giorno's hunger addressed, Risotto went back to explaining stands, "They're referred to as stands due to the fact they, typically, manifest as separate entities beside the user. That can usually only be seen by other stand users."

Giorno frowned slightly, his idea to ask to see Risotto's stand quickly put to rest. He'd just have to wait till he obtained one of his own. For the moment, his desire to learn more about stands was satiated with the option of food presented right in front of him. He took the apple from the bag and smiled appreciatively, "Thank you, Risotto."

A hum was received in response as Giorno began to eat the snack provided to him.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_I've decided to work on this AU/What-if story when ever I'm able to, after getting some more inspiration. My aim is to update once a month, at least ten pages per. This way I'm not over shooting things. If I get more done in between, it'll be added to the monthly buffer._

_This chapter was mostly transitional, dealing with both Giorno's and Risotto's feelings on the whole situation. At to be expected, Giorno is ready to take this new development by the horns-well, as well as child can. Risotto...is conflicted. Next chapter will divluge more of his background. I plan on doing that with all the members of La Squadra, similarly to how it was done for Bruno's team to show why they are so loyal to each other and in particular-to Risotto. Then how Giorno's addition to the group will effect the dynamic._

_Added song lyrics to the start of the previous and this chapter. It's meant to fit the mood of the chapter, least that's the aim._

_Let me know what you think, how this story will be different from the cannon (what will or won't happen)! Also, hint, look up the developmental potential for each of their stands._


	3. Chapter 3 Here Comes Revenge

_"Blurring lines of right and wrong_  
_Far too late for frail amends."_

Risotto's hotel room was sizable with a small kitchenette, bathroom, TV, desk, couch, couple chairs, and a bed. This caused Giorno to question whether him being taken in had been planned or not. He felt it hadn't.

The act of sneaking him in had been done much the same as before, by way of invisibility. Once inside the room Giorno hid his things away in the closet while Risotto ordered room service. Once done he took in his surroundings a little more. It'd been a while since he'd been in a hotel. He last recollections were of when his mother and him moved to Italy and on his parent's honeymoon trip. The memories were tainted with his recent realizations. He shook it off. That was behind him now. Literally and metaphorically.

He rested his arms on the side of the bed and watched, while Risotto thanked the person on the other end of the phone before hanging up. The adult sat down on the opposite side of the bed and pulled off his jester hat, showing his silver to be on the short side aside from the front bangs. The back appeared be more closely shaved.

"The food should arrive in thirty minutes. I'm not sure what you like so I chose basic dishes." Risotto said as he turned his head to the boy.

Giorno wasn't the least bothered by that and responded in understanding, "Thank you."

Risotto nodded.

Now with the moment available, Giorno took it to ask a pressing question that'd been on his mind since he'd left home. "Where are we going? To your home?"

"Yes, then I will introduce you to my team." Risotto answered. With Giorno now under his care, it was mandatory that he get to know the rest of La Squadra. He would meet them all one way or another. A meeting would get it taken care of all at once. While there was no concern of his men treating Giorno poorly, he knew this would cause a stir something one way or another. Inwardly he sighed, the reactions should be something to see...

"Team?" Giorno questioned. "Are you a Capo?"

"No, I serve under Capo Polpo. I have command of a group but no territory of my own." This seemed to slightly surprise the boy. Had Giorno thought the sway he'd had over those around him meant he held a position of importance? The lack of territory control was a subject of issue among him and his men, mainly Sorbet and Gelato. Thus far, he'd disregarded it. They were the best hitmen in all of Passione. It was only a matter of time that their work would garner them recognition. They just had to be patient and keep at their work.

"What are the members of your team like?"

The question caused a slight pause from Risotto. He'd never had to describe his men to anyone before. Least not to a child. There were many ways to put his team, but he disliked to talk for long lengths of time. Today was the most Risotto had talked in a while. However, Giorno being drastically displaced because of his action left the boy at a right for information. So, Risotto put his preferences aside and answered in as few words as he could managed.

"They are skilled and the best in our field of work." Several shouting matches cropped up in his memory. Formaggio vs Illuso due to their rivalry. Prosciutto because of his strict and harsh mentorship of Pesci. Illuso and Prosciutto over rank in the group. All the while Gelato sat back to watch the various shows with clear amusement. Thankfully, Sorbet had no interest in squabbles. Risotto rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "If not loud at times."

While Giorno took note of the second part for later, he was more interested in the first segment. Skills in what? His mind immediately went back to what'd happened to his late father-in-law. Risotto had killed him so quickly and silently, that he'd been none the wiser until he'd heard his footsteps. That in mind, Giorno suspected Risotto had let him hear his approach. The quiet then sudden noise drew him to the conclusion. Coupled with the fact he was to meet similarly skilled individuals left him with a sudden feeling of intimidation.

"Hitmen? Is that what your team is?" He kept his daunted emotion below the surface. Weakness had long been taught to never be shown. In the world of the mafia that was surely enforced even more rigidly.

"Correct." The boy's perceptiveness was impressive for his age, but Risotto was more experienced.

"You're apprehensive." Giorno stiffened. He hadn't hidden his emotions well enough. He attempted to read Risotto but got nothing other than the man's stoicism. Concerns of disapproval were put to rest when Risotto continued, tone carrying hints of reassurance, "They will not harm you. The manner of how we met is already known to them."

Giorno's posture loosened with this knowledge. A good word was already put in for him. Nervousness was still present but didn't grip him as firmly. He wondered how they would take him. Would they share his curiosity or tolerate him only for Risotto? He'd said they were loud sometimes. From yelling at one another or boisterous comradery? He could ask more questions but it would be better to wait and see, words could only do so much to portray a people.

Giorno uttered a noise of understanding and nodded.

Risotto examined the boy's expression and found his nerves to be settled enough. He stood up from the bed, it shifting notably. "I'm going to take a quick shower. If the food comes early, hide. Understood?"

The boy nodded again. Dark eyes stayed on him a moment longer before the assassin headed to the bathroom area. He unfastened his trench coat, draped it onto a nearby spare chair, and removed his shoes before disappearing into the half bath.

Once the door shut behind the adult, Giorno's eyes drifted over to the jester hat on the nightstand. He crawled across the bed, draped his legs over the side and picked it up. Firstly, he noticed the orbs at the end were notably solid, definitely not hollow. He'd already noticed they lacked bells inside while being carried. Secondly, the letters on them spelled Risotto's name from the right to left. Inspection done, Giorno played with the tails of the curious hat. He'd never seen another like it in real life, only in pictures.

* * *

Risotto didn't really need a shower, he taken one after his mission was completed. What he really needed was a moment to relax his nerves. Giorno's question in the car had dug up a memory that refused to simply be buried again. He'd kept himself distracted with the child's presence but could only hold it off for so long. It refused to be ignored. Old embers of frustration and hatred came back to life. Metallica's cries filled his ears as the stand stirred in his veins to the point that he felt himself tremble.

His revenge had hardly been a spur of a moment. He'd had four long years to plan it out. Four years to train and prepare. Arborio's killer, Maialino Spiedo, was by no means a small man. Relying on rage alone would've been a foolish endeavor. In the four-year span, between his prison sentence and his release, he'd grown considerably in height and strength. During that time, Risotto also began to dip himself into the underground world through fighting rings. The vicious blood sport forced him to hone his fighting instinct or go home battered, possibly with broken bones. The first few goes had been brutal. He hadn't been prepared but he learned quickly. It was through there that he met Prosciutto for the first time. He supplied him his gun and switchblade he used for the kill. In exchange for a good amount of money of course. Unmarked guns didn't come cheap.

"Your putting yourself through this hell, all for one guy?" Prosciutto had remarked later, while Risotto was treating some cuts from a fight. By then he had gotten better, but not good enough. At least not to himself.

Risotto only replied with a simple, "Yes."

A momentary pause while Prosciutto took in the answer, by now he was used to the other's simple and to the point responses. They were at Prosciutto's and Pesci's small rundown apartment, Risotto in their bathroom treating himself. The blond laughed lightly, admitting, "Well, I can't say you aren't committed."

He'd always been this way, methodical. If he was going to do something, he was going to do it correctly and to the best of his ability. Arborio had been the one to get him to ease up, but she wasn't here anymore.

The shower faded away from his focus. It was the day that began his life as a killer.

Heat in his veins fueled his restrained anger that consumed him to his core. It'd been this way for the whole month, leading up to this anticipated day. The day he was going to end Maialino. He'd been unable to focus on anything else, other than what he'd planned so long for. It showed despite his efforts to keep it concealed, causing concern from the few around him. He dismissed their worries. Risotto had been hesitant at first to trust anyone, he'd only ever trusted Arborio prior but Prosciutto had shown a level of understanding and cut him some deals. Even in the present day, only Prosciutto knew the details of his first kill.

It was late at night when he found him. He'd been stalking him for a while now. Much as he'd wanted to, it'd be too suspicious for him to die right after being freed. That'd leave him as a prime suspect. It'd been months now. He'd memorized his routine. He knew when he'd be alone and he could wait no longer.

He watched him from down the street from between cars and strangers that milled about. Currently he was heading home from his job, a pawnshop that he owned. A seedy looking little business stuck between better looking businesses, an open cafe and a bookstore. As he stalked the man, he found out his pawnshop was a front for selling drugs. This didn't surprise Risotto much, but the fact that he sold to children did. The abhorrent man became only more disgusting in his eyes, driving him further to rid the world of him.

Currently, he was heading out to go get drunk.

Risotto couldn't believe his eyes when he first saw him get wasted on the very same weekend of his release. One would think, causing the death of a young person due to being drunk at the wheel would encourage someone to be sober, yet that wasn't the case here. Risotto heart raced and he held his breath when he'd saw him get into his car. His unsaid prayer was seemingly answered as the man hadn't hit another person-luckily. Between the several episodes of drunk driving and selling drugs to kids, it was clear he had no respect for the lives of others.

The cool night air was filled with only ambient noise. The parking lot for the bar was a walk away from the establishment itself. Hidden behind the building and the backs of others. The bar was packed, noise could be heard from it even at this distance. The bar entrance was actually a stairway to the basement of the building. The main floor was a restaurant owned by the same people. What was important was that the it was steep enough that Risotto couldn't be seen as he broke into Maialino's car. His situation was further helped by the fact there were cars situated around to further hide him. He was free to pick the side door lock and slip inside before any of the other car owners returned.

Risotto waited patiently on the floor of the backseat for Maialino to return. For his size it was cramped, but his hatred for the man made it easy to ignore his discomfort. Inside the car was not much warmer than outside but his black hoodie and leathers glove kept him from being frigid. His heart pounded in anticipation, Risotto had waited so long for this and there wasn't a doubt in his mind on if he could go through with this. He just needed to stay focused and stick to his plan. He'd learned a lot about Maialino in his time stalking him, he had a firm grasp on how he'd react to things. Nothing would be able to surprise him or throw him off guard.

Without a watch, Risotto didn't know for how long he had waited but, to him, it seemed like Mailaino returned earlier than expected. Perhaps it was his desire to end the man's life or something had happened in the bar. The man was muttering to himself about money, seemed like he hadn't brought enough to continue to binge. By the sounds of his words he wasn't absolutely plastered, but still had more than one drink in his system. This worked in Risotto's benefit. The more coherent he was the better.

Maialino started his car and began to drive away from the parking area. Risotto remained where he was. The man hadn't even looked in the back seat of his car, he had no reason to. In his inebriated state, he likely didn't catch the outline of dark clothing. From where he was, Risotto looked out the adjacent window that he faced to tell where they were. By the looks of the buildings that sped by, Maialino was heading home. He wouldn't be making it there. The route he took was a lesser used one, meaning less witnesses.

Once Risotto felt they were isolated enough from wandering eyes, he began to execute his plan. He took out the gun and put it to Maialino's side. The man to stiffened and give an exclamation of surprise. Risotto ignored this and ordered, "Make a left at the next turn."

"Who the hell-when did you-" Maialino stopped his when he felt the barrel of the gun press firmly into his side. He gritted his teeth and complied. Through the rearview mirror Risotto could see he was attempting to get a look at him. He kept himself mostly hidden behind the seat. At best he could see his arm shoulder and the edge of his hood. If he made any move to grab at him, he'd shoot, it was risky but the attempt would risky in of itself. Either way, the chance of Maialino doing so was low. He was cornered at the moment and he knew it. At best he'd try something when they got out of the car.

"Turn right at the intersection." Risotto instructed. Inwardly, he wanted to yell and scream out his hatred, but getting emotion would cause him to lose his focus. If that happened, he could leave an opening. He couldn't let that happen.

Maialino begrudgingly complied, but attempted to pry some information out of his unwanted passenger, "Who the fuck are you?"

"No questions. You'll see when we get out." Risotto shortly replied. Maialino twitched in agitation, a growl under his breath. The continual pressure of the gun in his side forced him to comply, at least for a short while.

After more directions from Risotto, Maialino began to slowly become more uneasy. They were headed towards a bad side of the city. The less up kept, rundown, crime ridden side. The desired outcome of this encounter was becoming clearer to him. Maialino attempted to pry for information again, "Are you a druggie, competitor? What?"

"Quiet. Turn now." Risotto ordered, cocking the gun's safety as one final warning. Maialino's neck stiffened, the vein's in his neck showing beneath the skin. The simple sound of a click was enough to evoke further fear from his captive. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat and alcohol from the man, he smelled putrid. Risotto shook it off, soon they'd be at their destination.

Said destination was a dead-end alleyway. It once went all the way through but the two buildings on opposite sides were bought and merged together. The business that was created for it had recently gone under and the building was waiting to be sold. For the moment, it may as well be abandoned. The alleyway that led up to the back door was only occupied by a dumpster and random trash littered about. In the dark of the night, the brick walls looked to be a dark grey with the silver moonlight leaving them a silvery blue-grey. It was like a city entrance to a tomb.

Reluctantly, Maialino stopped his car and turned it off at Risotto's orders. He scowled apprehensively and opened his mouth to ask what the bastard in his back seat wanted next. His words were instantly cut off by a gun shot. Maialino howled in agony and reflexively gripped his leg. While he bucked and thrashed wildly in his seat, Risotto got out from the back. He calmly walked over to the driver's seat and opened it. Maialino had been shouting and swearing up a storm in the meantime, Risotto ignored what he said. When the side door was opened, he snapped his attention to it. The sight of a gun pointed at his face drained the color from his sweat decorated complexion.

"Get out." Risotto ordered coldly. Face still mostly hidden by his hood.

"You shot me in the fucking leg! How the fucking hell do you expect me to move?" Maialino yelled in response. His hands tightly gripping the bullet wound that was just above his kneecap.

Risotto's neutral expression cracked with an annoyed twitch of his lips and a faint growl. He reached in and grabbed the drunkard by the back of his shirt. Roughly he yanked him out of the driver seat and tossed him to the ground. His partially inebriated state left him at a disadvantage to resist the motion, he gasped as his shoulder met the cold, hard, concrete ground. He was given no reprieve as he was kicked forward away from the door. The thud of the driver door being shut was accompanied by an emotionless order, "Limp or crawl, I don't care which-move."

The gun still pointed directly at him and his attacker surprisingly tall, Maialino halfway dragged his way to the back door of the building. He didn't know where he was. The feeling of isolation and helplessness continued to build inside him. He didn't know who this person was and there were many reasons someone would want it in for him, but not knowing left a terrifying unknown he didn't like. If he knew then, maybe, he'd be able to talk his way out of this.

The inside of the building looked like a gutted-out husk of what it once was. All furnishings were removed, the walls were stripped bare. Dust was already collecting and spiderwebs were the only sort of decoration present. One of the front windows was boarded up, due to what looked to be a broken window. The other had a blind pulled down. Done so by Risotto in preparation for this moment.

Without warning, Risotto shot Maialino in the shoulder. The man fell back hard onto the ground, blood splattering on the ground around his shoulder. He writhed and clutched his shoulder that was blistering with hot pain. He could feel the bullet lodged inside. A shadow fell over him, distracting the man from his injury. Maialino looked up to see his attacker had pulled down his hood. Mid-length grey hair stood out wildly, bangs over grey eyes.

"Do you remember me?" Risotto questioned. The tone he carried made it sound like a thinly veiled threat. The blank expression lined with panic answered him without words. His anger flared to the surface of his face, Risotto scowled, "Four years ago."

Maialino's eyes widened, his mind went back to the trial that'd put him in jail. He recalled a boy sitting on the prosecution's side that had glared at him all throughout the proceedings. Dread filled the pit of his stomach and eyes. He swallowed thickly, "You're the brother of that girl..."

Arborio and he had considered each other as siblings so the statement wasn't off. Risotto glowered at Maialino coldly, "That's right."

He said nothing else to that. No declaration that he was going to kill him. He was already dead in Risotto's eyes. He'd been dead for years. He wouldn't let his words waver or distract him. All that mattered was enacting the deed. No words were needed for that.

His resolve must have shown as Maialino face became grim and frantic as he put away the gun. The safety put back in place. He scrambled back as Risotto stepped forward and pulled out a pocket knife. The sight of blade getting flicked out in a smooth motion was the final straw to break Maialino. Words spilled from his mouth in a desperate attempt to save his hide, "E-easy! No! Don't do anything drastic now! It-it was an accident! I-I've had a hard life and I drink to cope, surely you can understand that! You wouldn't want to become a murder like me, would you? What would she think?"

Risotto stilled for a moment. He'd thought about that repeatedly. Arborio had always chided him when he got into fights with those that picked on her. The hostility he'd faced at home had led him to have a short fuse towards anyone who threated Arborio. Once he'd drawn blood by busting the other kid's nose. He probably would've gotten into more fights, if it hadn't been for her. It didn't take much thought to come to the conclusion that she wouldn't approve of what he was about to do.

The hatred and anger in his veins wouldn't allow him to let it go. Risotto needed vengeance for what had been taken from him. She was gone. He'd never see her again. This miserable, pathetic excuse for a man before him didn't deserve to live for taking such an innocent, pure life. The justice in place had failed to provide proper punishment. It'd failed him and forced himself to endure this cretin's continued existence. He'd correct that mistake.

"I've had a hard life as well...I've never known my parents, my uncle died, and my aunt is a drunk." Risotto answered evenly as he looked down at the knife in his hand. Maialino's fearful expression lightened, thinking he'd managed something. This belief was quickly crushed when Risotto's even expression broke apart and contorted into murderous hatred. He spat venom at the object of his rage, "And you took away the only good thing in it!"

In an instant, Risotto lunged at the man before he could protest, the knife was plunged right into his throat. Blinded by long brewed anger he kept stabbing. The blood in his veins was brought to a full boil and demanded this man pay. All he saw was red. All he felt was the rage inside that guided his viscous swings. Cries of pain, anguish, and anger punctuated each strike but eventually each faded away, leaving only the sounds of the knife striking flesh. Maialino's attempts to struggle against Risotto were weak. His inebriation and gunshot wounds made them pointless against the enraged onslaught. By the time Risotto's anger petered out and his focus returned, he was exhausted, sweat coated him, and his breath was labored. The image before him was red. Blood had soaked through and stained the torn-up clothing of Maialino, a white shirt stained to a wine red, the brown jacket a deep crimson. The shirt was torn to ribbons with numerous stab wounds. On the other hand, the jacket being sturdier bared a few well-defined holes.

The number of cuts and stabs shocked Risotto. He'd plan on several stab wounds but this was more than even he had thought himself capable of. He couldn't really recall what stab came after the first one. What shocked him was the stabs to the face and tongue. Risotto hadn't thought himself capable of such mutilation. In his rage, he hadn't even second guessed himself for a split second. His hands and knife were utterly coated in blood with his hoodie baring splatters all over the front and sleeves.

He pulled himself up to his feet as he attempted to process what had occurred. This was it. He'd gotten his revenge. Yet, despite the level of savagery he now found himself capable of, he felt...nothing.

His shock had been fleeting gone moments after it appeared. He'd done what he needed to. His emotion had gotten the better of him. He'd work to keep it in line, that was all that needed to be done. What concerned him more was the lack of emotion he felt. Risotto hadn't really thought of how achieving his revenge would make him feel afterwards. All that had mattered was Maialino's death. Nothing else. Now that it was done, there was a numb emptiness in its place.

It didn't feel right. It felt off. Shouldn't he feel some catharsis? He didn't feel any better or any worse. Risotto pondered if there was something wrong with him that kept him from feeling anything as a result of committing this crime. He frowned, in some way Maialino was right. He had become like him in a sense, he felt nothing for the loss of another's life. Even with that thought, he still felt nothing.

Risotto wiped his knife off on his hoodie then put it away. With some hefting he hauled the corpse into the trunk of his own car. He grabbed up a change of clothing he'd stored in the empty building, changed quickly into the new clothes. Stored the bloodied clothing into a black bag and tied it off in a knot before tossing it into the trunk with the body. Afterwards it was just a matter of driving to the location he was going to dump the body. During the drive he felt mechanically focused yet strangely detached to everything that was around him.

The emptiness had settled itself in him nicely. Risotto accepted this new state of being, if this was the outcome of his revenge-so be it.

Later, he knocked on the door to Prosciutto's apartment. There was a call from inside and a moment later the young mafioso answered the door. He only looked at the tired Risotto for a second before he stepped aside from the door and nodded for him to come inside. The two went into the living room, Risotto taking a seat on the old, worn-out brown sofa while Prosciutto stood beside a small coffee table. The building was outdated and barely up kept, just enough to keep it livable. Risotto knew Prosciutto was bothered by his living conditions but Risotto, himself, wasn't. Particularly with how tired he felt currently.

"Considering how it's nearly morning..." Prosciutto stated with an offhanded yawn. He raised a brow when a look of surprised confusion surfaced on his friend's face.

"It's that late?" Risotto questioned. He'd assume it'd be past twelve but he hadn't thought that he'd lost track of time that badly.

"Early actually." Prosciutto corrected. Risotto rubbed his face in an attempt to gather his bearings while the mafioso continued, "Only reason I'm up is because it's hard to not hear everything in this damn apartment."

"Sorry for bothering you." He apologized. Prosciutto shrugged it off.

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it. I'll get back to sleep easy enough." He eyed Risotto a moment, then asked what he knew to be the reason for his oddly timed arrival, "So, you finally decided to do that bastard in, hm?"

"Yes." Risotto answered. He dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money and held it out to the mafioso. "Here, the money for his car and from his wallet as promised."

Soon as the cash came out, Prosciutto's eyes lit up. He took the money and briskly thumb through it, "Not bad, about as much as I figured for that model. Least he kept it decently enough." He looked back to Risotto, "He have anything good on him?"

Risotto fished back into his clean replacement hoodie. "He had a couple of rings and a necklace on. I can't say what their worth anything."

Once the jewelry was handed over, Prosciutto looked it over with a critical eye. He tilted his head as he held them in his hand, "Nothing too special. Gold looks real, diamond too. I should be able to get some good cash for this."

"Good." Risotto said as he rubbed the side of his head, his exhaustion was beginning to weigh on him. His shoulders beginning to sag he lifted his head back up. "I have a couple of things to ask of you."

Brow arched inquiringly. Prosciutto asked in turn, "What's that?"

"Can I sleep here? I've never felt this exhausted before." Risotto's tone was limp. His body was ready to give into the need to sleep at any moment.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've slummed here." Prosciutto stated casually, not bothered by the idea. He leaned to the side and put the hand with the jewelry on his side. "You don't need to ask at this point."

"I dislike assuming." Came Risotto's half-muttered reply.

Used to his company's meticulous behavior by this point, Prosciutto accepted the response and resumed, "And the second request of yours?"

"Help me establish myself as a hitman."

Surprise flashed across Prosciutto's cerulean-blue eyes. For the moment of the declaration being made the tiredness was gone and in its place was firm conviction. Prosciutto looked the other man over, "Bit of a jump after killing one guy. What caused this?"

"I learned that I felt nothing for killing a person. I believe that's a good mindset for that sort of occupation."

"Can't argue that."

* * *

The sounds of knocking snapped Risotto out of his recollection. A call was dampened by the sound of the shower and the closed door. He recalled the room service ordered and shut off the shower. He cracked the door to the half-bath open and called out, "One moment."

Briskly he dried himself off and pulled his pants on. While still drying off with a towel Risotto strode across the room, as he did, he noticed he couldn't immediately see Giorno. That noted he was free to open the door. The stewardward outside appeared surprised by his appearance that filled the doorway.

"Sorry, I was in the shower." Risotto stated as he rubbed the back of his neck with the towel.

"No problem at all. Just take these off my hands." The steward held out two covered plates.

"Of course." Risotto took up the two plates. "My thanks."

"Enjoy! And have a good night sir."

After a nod of acknowledgment, Risotto shut the door with his heel as he turned away a covered dish still in each hand. Outside eyes now gone, he looked around for the child's whereabouts. There were a couple places he could effectively be hiding. No sight of feet under the curtains took away one, which was good as people outside the building could've spotted him. The others were in the closet or behind some form of furniture amd he had a feeling as to which one.

"Giorno, come chose your meal." He was none too surprised when the young boy popped up from the behind the bed. It was a boxed bed so it wasn't possible to see him from the door. He'd been too preoccupied with answering the door to take notice as he passed by. What he hadn't expected was his hat sitting on Giorno's head. The sight caught him so off-guard that he stood there, staring. Risotto blinked when he realized he was doing this, mentally shook his head and refocused himself.

He placed the two dishes down on the coffee table before he removed the metal covers. One was polenta with tomato sauce and a few medium-sized meatballs and the other was carbonara with bits of bacon.

By the time Risotto looked back to the boy, expecting him to have moved over, he saw Giorno had only taken a couple of steps towards the end of the bed. A pensive and hesitant expression was on his face. Small hand wringing one of the hat tails while the other clenched one. It looked like he was contemplating taking it off. At the same time, he carefully eyed Risotto, who inched a brow upward at this. What was he trying to read him for? Surely, he didn't suspect him doing something to the food. Had he chosen not one but two dishes he didn't like?

"Giorno, what's wrong?" The question got the boy's fidgeting hand to go still. Giorno's hands dropped from the hat tails and held them to his chest.

"Are...you upset that I played with your hat?" His words came slowly and were weighted with caution.

It was a simple question, yet Risotto was left openly puzzled by it. Out of all things, why would something so innocuous bother him? It wasn't as if Giorno was trying to pull it apart. Yes, he liked it but he wasn't that possessive. His brows furrowed in confusion as he answered, "No, why do you ask?"

Giorno's eyes fell. "Father didn't like me touching his things…"

A faint noise of understanding escaped past Risotto's lips. The realization somber but lined up to the poor treatment he was aware of. He ran a hand through his bangs, trying to work out a response in a timely manner. What he should say was obvious. Yet he found himself carefully picking out his words. This was an abused child, not one of his men. If things weren't done properly there could be more issues down the line, mentally and emotionally.

"I see." Risotto sat down on the burgundy couch that was off to the side of the coffee table. He looked to Giorno, tone calm and soft, "If I didn't want you to touch something, I will tell you. You can wear my hat. It doesn't bother me. If I want it back, I'll ask. I won't get angry at you for something unimportant."

From where he sat, Risotto saw Giorno's face lighten. There was still traces of unease, but trauma couldn't be wiped away in a single night. The air between them lifted, Risotto again motioned to the food and invited him over. "Come, let's eat."

Giorno nodded. It still took a bit for him to work himself up to move beyond the end of the bed, but once he got moving his steps became readily surer. Between the polenta and carbonara, he chose the pasta. He watched Risotto's reaction to his decision and only began to eat when the adult simply took up the other plate. His green eyes peered watchfully at the other while he twirled up and ate his food. Gradually he settled his focus on his meal and a comfortable silence only broken up by the clinking of utensils against a plate.

"We will need to head to bed soon." Risotto stated midway through the meal. "The drive isn't long but I'd like to get you settled and rested before I introduce you to my men."

"Okay" Giorno responded between a bite.

"Speaking of, would rather I stay on the recliner chair?" A look of confusion he received prompted him to explain, "I don't want cause any discomfort and prevent proper rest."

"No, I'll be fine." The response was quick and certain. So much so that it threw Risotto off a little. The moment when he'd readied to drop down from the balcony flickered through his thoughts. Risotto cut that strain of thought short. He wasn't willing to put stock into such a thing so soon. The boy hadn't even been with him for a full day. Risotto focused on the child in front of him, his fork put down for the moment. A small smile formed on Giorno's face. "You're the only one that's ever cared for me. I feel safe with you."

Speechlessness held Risotto firmly. Trust outside of his group wasn't something he came by. His mere appearance caused people to stray away from him. Black and red eyes was more than enough to do that. Demon and monster were labels often applied to him by those that he was about to kill, or the rare few that had heard of him. He nearly wanted to toss this up to the child not wanting to offend him. What stopped him was the composure the boy held. His unease and fearfulness from before had been fully banished.

Risotto picked up his fork and conceded, "Very well. If you change your mind let me know."

Giorno didn't wind up changing his mind. Time went by, one last offer was made by Risotto but it was dismissed as simply as the first. There was something that bothered Giorno, but the assassin's presence wasn't it. On contrary, the boy hoped that his presence would help him.

As he laid on his back he stared up at the ceiling. Anxious worry welled up inside him. The time was coming, traces of darkness held his attention. One at a time the lights were flicked off like a count down. By the time he felt Risotto's weight to the side of him, the darkness was all around him. Its presence pressed down on him with a weight it didn't have. His young heartbeat quickly as a rabbit. Giorno tired to force his fear back but it quickly overpowered him quickly.

He was even younger. Alone in his room and trembling on his bed, blanket wrapped around him as he held himself tightly. He wanted someone to hold him, but no one would. His parents only ever yelled at him for disrupting their sleep and told him to grow up. He had to hold himself. It did little to sooth him.

Giorno didn't know why he was like this. He'd always been this way from what he'd heard through his mother's rants. It wasn't that he felt there were monsters in the dark. No, it was the darkness itself. With it's crushing weight that made it feel like it was closing in, closer and closer, till squeezed the life out of him.

While it crushed him, he could only stare out into its depths. The vast, nebulous void of pitch black that seemingly had erased the rest of the room with its arrival. Giorno knew he wasn't sitting afloat in nothingness. He insistently reminded himself about this, but his fear consistently overrode this.

Alone. It showed him how alone he was. During the day, his parents wanted nothing to do with him. The other children mocked him for his different ethnicity and loneliness. Night only showcased this in it's full effect.

He was alone. No one would comfort him. Sometimes he cried, tears staining his blanket. Eventually, he'd fall asleep to dream of more darkness. Nothing.

Something draped over him and Giorno was jerked back to the present. He hadn't realized it but he'd been trembling. His mind had been too caught in the same fear from another place and time. For a scarce moment, he didn't know where he was. It was the red numbers from the alarm clock on the bedside table that helped him recollect. The dim light may have not staved off his fear but at least it helped in some way. Now he knew what laid over his side.

For once, Giorno felt calm in the dark. He stopped shaking and settled down. His own arm embraced Risotto's before he fell asleep with a soft smile.

* * *

**Author Notes:**

_I contemplated whether to include the bit about Maialino selling drugs to kids for a short but. I went with it to stick to the JoJo tradition of making the bad guy as bad as possible before quickly killing them off lol. Also, on Risotto not being a capo. I've looked it up and as far as I can tell he's officially never referred to as one. Capos have territory control. The whole deal between La Squadra and the boss is because Diavolo wouldn't give them territory control, give Risotto a promotion essentially. Similar to Bruno before he was promoted, he's just a team leader. I mention this because people tend to call him Capo, so just to avoid confusion._

_As for Risotto's hair and eye color in the flashback, like he said in chapter one, things changed._

_Next chapter, Giorno meets the rest of the current La Sqaudra roster!_


	4. Chapter 4 Children of Cain Part 1

_"No sin eater to slay_  
_Us children of Cain"_

Formaggio lounged on the couch of La Squadra di Esecuzione, arms draped over the back as he stared up at the ceiling. He was completely bored. It'd been over a month since he'd been sent on a hit. At first, the time to relax had been enjoyable, but that had worn off and now he wanted something to do. Particularly because Illuso was holding it over his head as proof of him being the better hitman. Currently the hideout was free of the mirror assassin. He was able to relax, albeit out of boredom.

He sighed and lifted his head to the pair that was snuggling on their usual chair. "Aye, didn't we have a new guy? What happened to him? He die?"

Gelato blinked, briefly confused. Quickly he recollected and laughed with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Oh yeah, he got killed two weeks in. I'd completely forgotten about him!"

"Oh right." Formaggio respond, finger scratching his temple. He shrugged it off. The guy hadn't even lasted a month, so he hadn't bothered to get to know him. Let alone bother to remember his name. He rubbed his neck and sighed, "Been a while since we've had a new member stick. Pesci doesn't even count since Prosciutto says he ain't ready yet." He looked off to the side and considered the younger brother. He was a big guy for his age but soft and meek. "Can't blame him on that."

"Yes, he needs more mentorship. If he wasn't Prosciutto's brother, I wouldn't have even allowed him a chance. Personally." Sorbet noted evenly, his eyes focused more on a book than the conversation at hand.

"But you believe that he has the potential that Prosciutto see, yes?" Gelato crooned as he turned his partner's face to him, hand stroking his jawline.

"Beach Boy does indeed have the potential to be a dangerous stand. The ability to not only phase through solid objects, sense heartbeats, and damage reflection is perfect for assassination. If Pesci rids himself of his cowardly uncertainty, then I don't have any doubt he'd make a perfect addition to our team." Sorbet elaborated, his tone clear and concise, eyes focused on Gelato's gaze. When the other rested his head on his shoulder, Sorbet turned his attention back to Formaggio, "But it has been a while since anyone lasted even a month."

"Yeah, with things heating up lately, it's no wonder." Formaggio stated, underlying tone serious. As anyone in Passione should, he'd been keeping an eye on what was going on in and around the gang. He looked to the other two with a smirk, "Sure you've heard, about the other gangs-some of them have been trying to get in on stands."

"Certainly have." Gelato amusedly responded. "Guess some have finally decided to believe the rumors about Passione members having powers." He frowned and scoffed, "That or some _weakling_ let someone get away."

"Wasn't one of us!" Formaggio proclaimed with a laugh. He grinned, "We don't let mistakes live."

If a member died, another of them would be sent to clean up the mishap. Any targets that survived, didn't last for long. A failure was a disgrace, one that had to be corrected quickly.

"Of course not." Gelato agreed with a ring of pride in his voice. He put a finger to his chin, eyes angled at his teammate from where his head rested. "I wonder how Boss will deal with this."

To this, Formaggio scoffed, "He could just drop leader or Prosciutto at their hideouts and let nature run its course from there! Hideouts full of corpses should give the message loud and clear!"

"Aren't you the one that's been complaining about a lack of work recently?" Sorbet noted dully, eyes back on his book.

Formaggio slid his eyes off to the side at the call out. Indignantly he replied, "Yeah and I still want a job soon, but," he twirled hand to emphasize his point, "Hard to argue efficiency."

"True." Sorbet agreed simply.

"Speaking of leader…he should be getting back soon." Formaggio looked behind him towards the set of stairs that led down to the meeting room. He perked when he heard the door upstairs open then shut. A familiar long stride caused him to beam in amusement at his timing. "By the sound of it, there he is now!"

The couple's attention shifted over to the stairs. Sorbet raised a brow when he noticed a second set of footsteps. The question as to whom they belong to was answered when the stairs where reached. At least, somewhat answered. Black and white striped pants were illuminated by a ray of light from upstairs as Risotto descended the steps. His black cocktail was followed shortly by what looked to be a child?

"Uh, hey leader, what's with the kid…?" Formaggio questioned when Risotto arrived at the bottom of the steps.

Behind his legs hid what looked to be a boy around the age of ten. Bright blue-green eyes peered carefully past Risotto at the seated hitmen. His hair a bowl cut and he wore what looked to be a school uniform. Expression guarded, he carefully eyed them. Sorbet noticed this with interest and shut his book. He wouldn't be getting back to it soon with such an unexpected development placed in front of him. By the look of his age, he had a good idea of who this was and why he was here. It was the only explanation that made sense, but before he could ask Gelato added in.

"I didn't know we were branching out to kidnapping." He joked. His joke was received as well as to be expected by Risotto. In that he didn't react much at all, aside from shifting his attention to him. Used to this, Gelato asked, "Is he, who I think he is?"

"Yes, this is Giorno Giovanna. He's staying with me from now on. I'm certain you all will treat him properly." Risotto explained concisely. He placed a hand on the child's head before gently urging him forward. The nudge was enough to get Giorno to move out in front of him, albeit with a hint of uncertainty. The squadron leader noticed this. He didn't expect any less from an introverted child. Thankfully, Formaggio's random question had caused him to have already mentioned the boy and the importance he held. The other members would be laxer and more welcoming.

The confirmation bared the results he hoped for. Formaggio's surprised expression changed to one of curiosity. Arms rested on his lap as he eyed Giorno. Gelato likewise shifted position, he straightened upright. His partner expressed similar intrigue.

"Sorbet, I'd like to speak with you for a moment." Risotto motioned for him to follow him upstairs.

Said assassin didn't seem surprised. He looked to his lover, who understood and shifted himself onto the arm of the chair. Sorbet put his book on the table and stood himself up. "Of course, leader."

The two senior hitmen headed to the base of the stairs. Before ascending, Risotto looked back to the other two, "Formaggio, Gelato, look after Giorno."

"Uh, yeah, got it." Formaggio fumbled out. He looked back to the kid as he scratched his head, realizing he didn't know how to approach the task.

"Come back soon." Gelato chimed to Sorbet coyly.

Risotto paused at the first step, Sorbet already heading up, his hand on the rail. He looked back to his ward. "I'll be back momentarily."

His words got Giorno to relax slightly, posture less tense. He smiled faintly and nodded. Satisfied the boy didn't look like a timid cat, Risotto headed upstairs with Sorbet.

Now alone with two adults, both professional hitmen, Giorno looked back to the individuals that were now to look after him. The thought that Risotto was just upstairs comforted him and eased any wayward worries, that drifted through his mind briefly. He needed to make a good first impression to these two. It was vital for his goal to be achieved when he was older. Easier said and done though, Giorno didn't know how to approach either of them. He knew their names, but that was it. As a result, he stood quietly where he was. To the same effect, Gelato and Formaggio looked back. From what Giorno could read, they looked curious.

A good sign.

"Hey kid, take a seat." It was Formaggio who broke the ice. He patted the dark couch cushion next to him in a welcoming manner. Giorno took the opening, walked over to the dark grey couch and sat in the middle of the offered cushion. He looked up at the darker skinned, ginger in a red studded jacket for any further cues. The assassin noted this and laughed. Playfully he patted Giorno on the shoulder, "Ease up! We're not gonna bite ya!"

The contact was unexpected to Giorno, causing him to straighten out of surprise. He turned his attention to the blond adult as he leaned against the back of the couch. Gelato, musingly, chimed in, "You're the one that saved leader, hm?"

Giorno nodded quietly. He could see this lit a fascination in his hazel eyes.

"Tell me, why did you do that? Why would save stranger, let alone a criminal?" Gelato's voice continued to hold intrigue but Giorno noticed it seemed genuinely inquiring. This man sounded as if he didn't understand why one would help a complete stranger. With his line of work in mind, it made sense. Giorno didn't question it further.

Formaggio likewise looked interested and with no reason to hide it, Giorno thought back to the day in question. It'd been during his walk back from school. First a button on the stone path had caught his attention that'd been absently drifting around previously. It was followed by a quickly formed pool blood that drew his attention to the heavily wounded man. At first glance he'd thought he was dead, but the faint motion of breathing revealed that wasn't the case. He recalled the hollow emotion that formed out of pure sympathy.

"He looked helpless and lonely." Giorno answered softly. He looked down at his lap, mind still focused on that moment.

Weak, dull eyes looked at him. There was no plea for help, only a defeated acceptance that death was closing in. Giorno, understood to some degree. The helpless more than anything else. Unable to escape the suffering he endured.

"I understood how he felt." Giorno added, so faintly that it was nearly to himself.

Formaggio looked to Gelato, the other assassin seemed satisfied with the answer. The downcast expression on Giorno's face caused him to pause. A change of topic was needed. He didn't want their leader to come back and see his ward was unhappy. Threat of harm wasn't his concern. Risotto hadn't ever used Metallica against them, not even threatened. However, Formaggio would be lying if said he wasn't intimidated by the thought of Risotto being mad with him.

"You don't gotta worry about that sort of thing anymore!" Formaggio's exclamation snapped Giorno's focus back to him. He put a hand on his shoulder and pointed a thumb back to himself. "You're one of us now! La Squdra di Esecuzione"

Giorno's demeanor lightened and he looked to Gelato for further confirmation. The blond nodded, face gentler and welcoming. It was enough comfort to garner a warm smile from the child. Instead of shy, anxiousness Giorno felt a flutter of excitement go through him. It may just be due to the fact that he'd saved Risotto, but he felt genuinely welcomed. Their occupation was a side factor for a moment, unimportant.

"Okay." Giorno uttered meekly. A pause wavered, suddenly unsure of the man's name. "Erm, Formaggio?"

"That's right. Hey, the first three letters of your first and last name are the same, yeah?" Giorno blinked, wondering why he'd asked that, and nodded. A big grin spread across Formaggio's face like a lightbulb had just lit up his expression. His mood became giddy. Enough so that Gelato looked at him curious, wondering what'd excited him so suddenly. "How about a nickname: GioGio?"

Wonder filled Giorno's eyes. The only nicknames he'd ever had were mean-spirited, ones in the form of insults, or slurs. He mirrored Formaggio's excitement with a bob of his head.

"Awesome!" Formaggio exclaimed.

"Proud of yourself?" Chimed in Gelato as he prodded the side of his teammate's head with a pointed finger.

Finger offhanded knocked away, Formaggio huffed, gesturing to Giorno. "GioGio, likes it-so yeah!"

Gelato halfheartedly rolled his eyes and shook his head. His intrigue returned and he looked to the newly dubbed GioGio. Elbow rested atop his other arm; he poised a hand in the air he flicked up a finger towards upstairs. "Why is that you're with Risotto now, GioGio?"

"He killed my father."

The prompt and blunt answer left both of the seasoned hitmen floored. They both stared at the straight-faced child before abruptly bursting into laughter. Gelato managed to keep his more reserved, hand in front of his mouth, while, Formaggio openly began to form tears at the edge of his eyes. He'd been caught too off guard, by the utterly unaffected, tone of Giorno to worry about his composure. It was the last kind of response he'd expected. A morbid sense of humor was practically mandatory for a hitman and theirs ate it up.

Formaggio turned his attention to the blond assassin, once his boisterous laughter subsided enough, "Didn't even miss a beat!"

"No hesitation at all." Gelato contributed, a wry grin on his face.

Giorno looked from one to the other, brow knitted in confusion. He failed to see how his answer had amused them. All he'd done was directly answered the question. There wasn't exactly any other way to answer it. When he went over their responses; however, he realized they'd expected him to more hesitantly respond. Briefly he revisited his musing over his lack of care towards his caretaker's demise. He put this aside. It didn't matter. It'd helped him make his own good impression.

A hearty shake of his shoulder and he was brought to Formaggio's side. Giorno stared in surprise. Formaggio chuckled, "I like you already kid! You're gonna to fit right in!"

"Would you like something to eat while we wait for Sorbet and Risotto finish talking? How about a sandwhich?" Gelato offered as he moved around to the front the couch. Hands on his knees and leaned his head down to closer to the boy's level.

Giorno looked from one to the other with increased excitement. The attention and positive reactions from the adults eagerly accepted. Giorno gladly nodded to the other. "Yes, please."

"Polite one, hm?" Gelato noted impressed. He casted a glance towards Formaggio in jest. A slight smirk on his lips, he headed towards the stairs and remarked, "Not something we get enough of here."

"Oi, one for me too Gelato!" Formaggio took the bait with a big grin and an energetic wave his hand. He snickered to himself when the blond only sarcastically shook his head. He watched the khaki pants disappear up the stairs before he turned his attention to the group's new, unexpected, addition. Giorno looked back to him, waiting for whatever was next. Casually he asked, "You like cats?"

A nod and a soft, "Uh-huh" was the response.

"Awesome, I'll have to show you my cat Blu sometime."

* * *

While Gelato was going to make some food, it wasn't the main reason he wanted to head upstairs. He was curious as to why Risotto wanted to speak with Sorbet. Clearly it had to do something with Giorno. That in mind, Gelato had a good idea of what the sudden one-on-one chat was about. Now he just had to do a bit of eavesdropping to get an idea if he was right. Without a doubt the two were talking in the small office study, which was down the hall from the kitchen. Hopefully, they had left the door open. Not like there was a reason to hide whatever they were discussing.

He was in luck. The baritone voice of Risotto and the modulated one of Sorbet was still in exchange as he entered the kitchen. Pleased, Gelato hummed to himself as he got to work on the promised meal. From what could be heard, his inkling was correct.

"I'm certain your aware that I didn't manage to get my degree. My own education is incomplete." Sorbet articulated as he stood in the center of the rug covered office room. Behind him was two full tall book shelves and one half-sized that had plants in vases atop it. The room was only lit by the light of a computer screen and the open door that let in the natural light from the rest of the home.

"I am." Affirmed Risotto. He watched as the other thoughtfully turned to the shelves, absently glancing over the titles. All of which focused on academic studies, mostly on education, literary, biology and botany. The squadron leader knew that he'd accept the proposal, on account of his university background, as such he wasn't worried. This would give him a chance to exercise the skills he'd worked to hone, before his current occupation. On the other hand, a child was not his intended age demographic for a student.

Sorbet stood indecisive, eyes on the shelves.

"From what I've seen, Giorno is a well-behaved child. He's followed all my instructions, despite the circumstance. I'm certain he'll be receptive and give you no problems." Risotto assured. He kept his eyes open for any cue from the other's posture. He was given nothing definitive when Sorbet turned back to him.

"I'll need to look into his grades." He stated, while he went around his leader and to the computer that was on the desk behind him. Sorbet sat on the edge of it, legs crossed, and looked up at Risotto. "Would you like me to find his medical records as while I search?"

"Yes, it's imperative I get a look at it." He answered with a curt nod.

"Very well." Sorbet accepted. He titled a brow, before he asked a question Risotto knew had been coming, "May I ask, why is it that you've, so suddenly, taken in this boy? Afterall, you said you'd made it a point to keep your distance from him. To avoid him falling into this bloody world of ours."

"His father broke our agreement," was all Risotto gave in answer to his subordinate.

* * *

"They wouldn't let you get a pet?" Formaggio questioned dubiously, a brow raised high. He'd been actively talking to the child since Gelato went upstairs. Much as he could get from him that is. Giorno was more at ease since the initial introduction, but a chatterbox he was not. Talk of his cat held Giorno's interest readily and Formaggio was happy to hold the role of speaker for the most part. The other members of La Squadra didn't have pets, so their interest had been minimal.

Giorno shook his head. Formaggio formed a pensive frown, he didn't know much about this kid's parents but there had to be a good reason that Risotto offed the dad and snatched him away. Curious as he was though, he wasn't about to try and dig into that. That'd definitely start to upset the kid. Too risky.

He waved it off. "Doesn't matter now. You can see my cat whenever."

"Do you live by Risotto?" Giorno questioned in response.

"Close enough, we all live in the area. Got to be able to meet up here ya'know." Formaggio pointed out casually, arm slung over the back of the couch.

"What do you all do here?" The subject of the cat was effectively put away as Giorno looked around the room.

It was a furnished basement about the size of an average living room. Nothing extravagant by any measure of the term. The area was divided into two sections, a seating area and a dining area. At the center of the seating area was a long table with a couch on either side. On one end of the table had a dark red wing chair. Behind the couch he was seated on was a large mirror mounted on the wall. Its presence was an oddity to Giorno, why would someone have one in the basement, let alone so large. The size of the decoration made it most likely the priciest thing in the entire room. All that reflected on the face was the wall in front of it, which made it all the stranger to Giorno.

He stared at the silvery surface a moment longer before he looked over to the dining area. There wasn't much to say about that area aside from there being seven chairs. A higher amount than normal. This lead Giorno to believe there was seven members in total, three others to meet.

Aside from that there wasn't much else to note about the room. Around it there were potted plants, presumably fake due to the dim lighting in the room. There were a few slim hopper windows that lined the area were the wall met the ceiling. Apart from that there were three utility lights at were affixed to the ceiling, all of which were let off a pale light. This left the atmosphere bleak and hidden away, fitting for a hitmen meetup location.

"Mostly just hang around a wait for an assignment." Formaggio generalized with a flick of his wrist towards the table. He pointed up towards the ground floor. "This place is actually Gelato and Sorbet's home. A lot nicer than having to find some joint elsewhere that's safe to talk business."

"They live here together?" Giorno questioned. He'd thought this was just a meeting place, a front of some kind.

"Yeah, they're close. Real close." There was an underlying implication that Giorno didn't quite understand, but from he'd seen upon first coming down the stairs it was accurate. Gelato had draped himself on top of Sorbet. While the sight had been odd, Giorno hadn't concerned himself with it.

"When we get a job, Risotto will give us a run down. If he's not here then it works the way down by seniority. Otherwise we just relax, usually play a game of cards or just hang out."

As Formaggio was talking something in the mirror caught Giorno's attention. He looked to the stairs, thinking it was someone heading downstairs, but there was no one there. Confused, he looked over his shoulder at the sheet of glass. His eyes went wide at what he saw. Formaggio caught this drastic shift in expression and stopped talking. He followed the boy's gaze to the mirror; his expression flatlined.

"Look who's here." He said to himself.

Out from the mirror stretched an arm, like the glass was an outlet from another identical room. There wasn't so much as a ripple from the surface of the reflective material. Giorno was entranced with amazement as a dark padded pants leg followed shortly after. The arm grabbed onto the bronze frame, and with push forward, emerged the upper torso of a fair-skinned, black-haired man. Surprised red eyes locked with wide young eyes when the assassin caught sight of Giorno below him.

|To Be Continued|

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_First multi-part chapter, and it's on a title drop chapter lol. The next part should be the other half of this. I don't expect it to go on longer than that. Afterwards I'll be having each of La Squadra (that's present atm) carry out a hit concerning the other gang's, primarily one, that's trying to get in on Stands. While also expanding on their backstories, their relation with Giorno, before leading up to Ghiaccio & Melone's addition. Basically the first half-ish of this is prequel before we get into actual Vento Aureo._

_Sorbet & Gelato are interesting to work with considering...next to nothing was given about them. The only thing I had to go off of was they were a couple and that they, apparently, are the most messed up-as remarked by Formaggio in the manga. Which is something considering what some of the others do in the anime/manga (e.i Risotto, Formaggio himself, Illuso, Melone ). Yes, I will be giving them a backstory & Stands. Also, I don't know why but the way Sorbet looked made me think he looked like a professor. So yeah._


	5. Chapter 4 Children of Cain Part 2

Momentarily, the two just stared at one another. Giorno was completely awestruck. The adult poised half-in, half-out of the mirror like it was perfectly normal. This had to be the work of a stand! Stands were capable of fantastical feats like this? Giorno's childish imagination was given potent fuel to run wild at the possibilities. What sort of abilities did the others have? Formaggio, Sorbet, Gelato and the other three? What sort of power would he get if he acquired a stand of his own? Right now, in his head, the possibilities were limitless.

"Formaggio..." Illuso started as he stared down at the child. Currently, his amazement was unprocessed, due to sheer disbelief blocking it out. His other arm pointed to Giorno, who didn't seem to noticed this at the moment. "What's this kid doing in our meeting place?"

At that moment, Formaggio grinned inwardly, outwardly he kept a neutral expression. He rested the side of his face on a propped-up hand and answered casually, "This is GioGio, he's leader's kid."

Word weren't able to escape from Illsuo's throat despite his jaw dropping, hard. Immediately shocked, skepticism took over as he deftly dropped down from the mirror fully and landed in front of the couch. Now at a normal angle the tall hitman looked at Giorno with scrutiny while Giorno took in this new person's appearance. He could pick up on the man being indignantly stuck between whether to believe what he'd heard or not. He kept darting a look at Formaggio like he felt something was up.

"GioGio," Giorno turned his attention back to the one beside him. Formaggio pointed towards the new arrival with a snide grin on his face. "This is Illuso Bicchiere. He's a prick."

"Excuse you!?" Illuso snapped, instantly distracted from his previous thought process.

"What? Just giving the kid a heads up." Formaggio's amusement was evident in his voice. Illuso had reacted as expected. Next to him, Giorno looked from one adult to the other. The mood had changed suddenly and he was left watching from the sidelines. He could tell Formaggio was messing with him. There was something between them, but Giorno had no clue as to what.

Illuso grounded out a growl. Suddenly, his anger dissipated quickly as it came. He gave a haughty huff and relaxed, putting a hand to his hip a smirk taking its place on his lips. "Well, with all your free time you'll be more than available to be a babysitter."

Giorno felt himself tense up apprehensively as Formaggio went ridged next to him. His placid expression changed to an irate frown and brows creased together. A snide grin now formed between Illuso's thin lips. Giorno lowered his head, he could see the signs of an argument waiting to happen. Jaws clenched shut, Formaggio glared at the taller assassin with restrained aggravation.

"Just telling the truth." Illsuo said in a mocking. Fromaggio glowered at him, which only served to grow the other's grin. Both hands on his hips he leered, "With how useless your stand is the Boss hasn't given you any work in a month!"

"You realize, you're proving my point, right?" Formaggio countered with a renewed grin. His rival gawked at the indignity while the other settled with a relaxed grin of victory. Illuso shifted where he was, attempting to dig up an effective retort to no avail. A begrudging moment later the taller released a conceding sigh. Grin in full effect he ruffled Giorno's hair, who was a touch confused by yet another mood change. "Probably shouldn't get into a spat in front of the kid, ya'know? Don't wanna get on leader's bad side."

Momentarily, Illuso's eyes became a fraction wider. Quickly this was put aside, in favor of the return of skepticism. He crossed his arms on his upper abdomen and looked the boy over. He pointed a finger at him, "This, is leader's kid?"

"That's right." Formaggio affirmed.

He looks nothing like Risotto. Hair, eyes, face, nothing...but, I don't know what the mother looks like...However, he does carry that same neutral air. In the end, Illuso's thoughts became undecided. The more he looked at the kid the more he seemingly spotted similarities, added with the unknown of the mother's appearance. He flicked one of his ponytail's over his shoulder and excused his own thoughts with a scoff, "Sure. So, what's your actual name?"

"Giorno Giovanna." The child answered readily.

"How old are you exactly? About ten?" Illuso questioned. This got Formaggio to look to him, he wasn't sure of that either.

"I'm nine." Like any other kid, he held up a matching number of fingers to show this. Though he lacked any excitement of being close to the guessed age. It was a simple fact, nothing less or more.

Another question was administered soon after. "You are aware of what we do right?"

Giorno could see the taller assassin was ready to spot any form of weakness from him. His gaze was hard, judging. It wasn't unwelcoming as it was critical. He was trying to sus out whether he'd be an issue down the line. His own age in mind, Giorno could understand this and had expected as much. While he kept a stoic expression, Illuso did come off as more intimidating than the friendlier demeanor of Formaggio. It took him a moment longer to speak than Giorno liked. "Your hitmen. You kill people for money."

While Illuso examined the boy's expression, Formaggio uttered a dismissive "tsk". Illuso's red eyes turned to him as he matter-of-factly questioned his teammate. "Did you really think leader would waltz this kid in here, without telling him? Come'on, does Risotto look like someone who'd even slightly sugarcoat something?"

While that was true, Illuso had caught the slight hesitation in the boy's answer. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by another voice.

"Wow, you two managing to talk without even breaking into an argument? Now there's a sight." Gelato commented amusedly as he walked down the steps with an assortment of sandwiches on a tray. Each of his steps were punctuated by a faint creak from the wooden stairs. He continued more casually, "I felt that the rest of us would show soon, so I made more."

Eager, Formaggio sat up and watched the tray get set on the long coffee table, more than ready to take his share. Lined one beside anther was three, foot-long, deli sandwiches and a large kitchen knife. Off to the other side was what looked to be a small pile of cloth napkins, folded neatly on top of each other. Formaggio reached a hand out to grab the knife. "Let me cut them up for you-"

Out of nowhere a completely different knife stabbed into the tray, just barely a hair's width from the hitman's hand!

"Holy Sh-!" Formaggio exclaimed, jumping back in surprise, his hand flung back as if stricken by something hot. His pupils shrank when he looked up and saw Gelato leering down at him with a dark, yet seemingly sweet smile. Formaggio withheld the urge to gulp, he knew that look. The usual demeanor had cracked. Still standing, Illuso flicked his gaze back to the child to gauge his reaction. Naturally Giorno was shocked into wide-eyed, stillness. To this, the mirror assassin frowned.

The callously smooth tone from Gelato sent sharp chills through both of the two on the couch. "The last time I let you cut the portions-you nearly took half of one for yourself."

Formaggio recovered quickly, clearly used to this drastic mood swing from the blond. If anything, he acted as if the dangerous undertone was a simple annoyance. "I've got a big appetite! Okay?"

"Sure, it's not due to boredom from lack of work?" Illuso chipped in smugly. Formaggio's eye twitched in annoyance. He knew the mirror user wasn't about to let this go until he got a job, even then he'd brag about how many more hits he got. Still, he wasn't going to take it silently.

"Least my stand isn't so specific." Formaggio fired back with a smirk.

"Least my stand isn't useless." Hissed Illuso.

Gelato's previous threatening demeanor seemed to vanish in the wake of the spat between the two rival hitmen. He smiled to himself, humming, as he quietly cut the sandwiches up into proper portions. Quick, precise, cuts resulted in nine pieces. The back and forth was still going as he half-wrapped in a napkin, rounded the table and offered it to Giorno. Knife incident fresh in his mind, young Giorno looked up at the blond questioningly. Either Gelato didn't care, or thought of his action as normal, as he not only didn't explain himself, but instead remarked on the in-progress argument.

"Here, a show is best enjoyed with food." He remarked with mirth before he took up a wrapped sandwich himself. Giorno watched him, food in hand, attempting to make some sense of the dramatic mood shift. Gelato sat himself on the arm of the couch, arm propped on the back, as he observed Formaggio and Illuso sling insults at each other. It was like he was watching his favorite show play out live right in front of him.

Giorno gradually pulled his eyes off of him, then to his sandwich and back to the two in front of them. By the time Gelato had handed it to him, Formaggio had gotten to his feet as if it'd give him an extra edge in arguing. Having no means to diffuse the confrontation, Giorno began to quietly eat and observe the two. He took no amusement from it, but he hoped to figure the reason for the two's prickly relationship.

"I come back unscathed from my missions. Can you say the same?"

"I don't hide in a safety room, unlike you!"

"That doesn't make your work any less sloppy! You know leader has been getting onto you about that!"

"And you know he's been getting on you for being difficult to work with!"

"Would you both shut the hell up!" A loud authoritative voice drew everyone's attention to the stairs. There two new members had arrived.

One was an adult, blond hair tied back into small single braids, that wore a two-piece, dark purple suit that had a lighter purple spiderweb motif of sorts, around his neck was a heavy, solid pendant. Behind him was what looked to be either a teenager, or a young adult, Giorno wasn't sure which. He looked muscular for his age, though his barrel-chested body and arms didn't seem to match the same body somehow. His hair was a green sprout at the center of his scalp. Oddly his demeanor looked more sheepish than the other hitmen, outwardly inexperienced. This caused Giorno to be curious towards this younger member. However, something about the other's appearance felt familiar.

"Prosciutto!" Formmaggio exclaimed in surprise. He hadn't even heard the front door to the home open.

"Can't you two ever be left alone without breaking into a goddamned argument?" Prosciutto snapped irately while he briskly walked down the stairs. He glared at the two, formerly, arguing hitmen like they were ill-behaved children. Illuso handled this with a thinly-veiled annoyance while Formaggio was indignant. Teeth bared, Proscuitto added, "This rivalry of yours is becoming a pain in the ass to deal with. I'm tired of hearing the same thing every other day!"

All of his steam effectively vented, Formaggio flopped back onto the couch and took up a sandwich. "Yeah, yeah."

Illuso's response was to give the blond a sharp look before averting his gaze, a huff slipping out of his mouth. Prosciutto returned the look before he looked to Giorno, who Formaggio sat beside again. The agitated expression shifted to one of surprised recognition, then to something else. He shifted his light-blue eyes upstairs but whatever he was thinking was shelved momentarily. A few strides later, he stood on the other side of the table from Giorno.

"Hey kid, it's been a while." Prosciutto stated, much to the surprise of everyone present. The boy looked the man over more intently, a memory was just out of reach. A helpful prod was given to him by the hitman. "I was with Risotto once we he shot that guy, for selling to kids and women."

Giorno's mind was flung back to the last time he'd seen Risotto before his absence. Now, he recalled Prosciutto. He'd been the one that pulled out a gun when the kid had tried, and failed, to exact revenge for his father. He recalled that he'd been eager to see Risotto and attempted to approach him, but he'd been all but ignored in an attempt to keep distance between them. Prosciutto had actually been the one to question his approach, naturally as they'd just killed a man. The gunshot had been heard by everyone on the street, so to move closer, rather than run away was rather peculiar.

"Remember now?" The question was mostly rhetorical, Prosciutto could see the recognition strengthen. Giorno nodded. That out of the way the hitman moved onto common courtesy. "Seeing as I already know your name." He pointed to himself. "Prosciutto Viola. This is my fratellino, Pesci Verde."

The bulkier young man was surprised by the sudden attention being drawn to him. He flinched and then seemed unsure how to respond. He fidgeted momentarily then gave a brisk wave to the child. His behavior confused Giorno, he couldn't be a hitman, but he dismissed the oddity in favor of the familiar person before him.

"What are you doing here? Did Risotto bring you in?" Prosciutto questioned. Memory in mind, Giorno gathered that they were likely friends, or at least good cohorts, and as such he already had a good idea of what happened and why. While Giorno was going to answer, Formaggio did it for him.

"Yeah, leader's upstairs talking to Sorbet. He told Gelato and me to keep an eye on him." He offhandedly motioned towards the kitchen area. Formaggio then gestured amusedly towards Giorno and snickered. "He killed GioGio's dad. Guy must've ticked him off, dumbass. Kid's been taking it like a champ!"

"That so?" Prosciutto mused. The kid certainly looked collected, if not a bit tense. Circumstances considered, he agreed, he was taking this well. He then asked Formaggio whether or not Giorno knew what they were about. The answer being yes was none too surprising either. This made the boy's mostly calm demeanor more impressive. Prosciutto smirked, hands in his pocket. "Got to say, I agree, you are taking this well. Most would shit themselves being in a den of murderers. Props to you."

Giorno perked at the praise. He then blinked when Prosciutto turned on his heel and headed upstairs. This, of course, resulted in questioning looks from the others and was explained as he left. "I'm going talk to Risotto. Don't eat my share."

* * *

"To start things, I'll come up with a test to gauge his strengths and weaknesses." Sorbet stated, while already beginning to type something up on the computer. His typing was precise and rapid fire. By the time he finished speaking more than half a page was written up.

Seeing his subordinate already so invested and enthusiastic, was a welcomed sight. Risotto nodded, hand on the back of the chair as he watched words appear on screen. "I'll give you a portion from my cut as payment. We'll work out a number before he begins. I want Giorno to settle first."

"Understood." His interest in the task seemed subtly heightened at the prospect of monetary gain, through an upward perk of his lip's edge. It was pleasantly pleased smile. His time was being valued as it should be. His time not being valued, as Sorbet felt should be, was something he was always vocal about. If a hit wasn't priced correctly, he'd at least remark on it. Though, with the plentiful season they were having currently, Sorbet was satiated.

"Has the Boss messaged about payment for your hit?" Their conversation about to end, Sorbet felt he may as we ask.

"Yes, the money will be transferred shortly. Clean up isn't a factor in this hit." While the Boss would have the cleanup crew handle things, he did have a limit on how much he'd cover. Too much blood, evidence left behind, property damage (if it mattered), or collateral lives lost would be deducted from pay. Risotto wasn't bothered by this, his stand could…leave quite the mess, but his men were split on the factor. It wasn't an issue most of the time and thereby dismissed generally.

Sorbet nodded. His attention shifted when Prosciutto appeared in the doorway. They'd heard the arrival earlier, but where still in mid-conversation. With the recent addition and the focus on him, Risotto knew what this was about.

"You want to speak with me?" He formally asked.

"Yeah, one on one." Prosciutto nodded his head further down the hall, towards the stairs that led to the second floor.

Short while later, Prosciutto and Risotto stood in the guest room. Window open the blond had a cigarette in hand as he offered one from the box to Risotto. Not in the mood, it was declined, Prosciutto shrugged and lit his.

"Care to tell me what happened with the kid's father?" His tone suggested he had an idea, but wanted to hear it from Risotto himself. Prosciutto leaned out the window, letting the smoke waft away from the home. Gelato smoked, but Sorbet couldn't stand the smell. This not being his home, Prosciutto was courteous with his habit.

Sat on the other end of the windowsill, Risotto responded, "You won't take him simply breaking our deal, will you?"

Prosciutto irately scoffed, "Don't start with that bull."

He looked out at the rest of the city before them. It was later in the afternoon people were beginning to return to their homes. Things were winding down. At least for the average citizen. Night was when the underworld came more alive, particularly for a group such as them. At the moment; however, work was done.

"Think after all these years, I know you wouldn't jump to killing a kid's damn father-of all things. Even if he was a poor excuse for one." Prosciutto expanded tone still mildly heated from the mere idea of an attempted excuse. He scoffed then threw a pointed look at his friend, cigarette pointed to him. The end still aglow with embers, it severed to draw the hitman leader's eyes to it. Prosciutto jabbed the tube in his direction a couple of times, emphasizing his want for a genuine answer. "What's the real reason?"

Risotto gave a long exhale. "I lost my temper."

Surprise quickly melted away to understanding. Prosciutto took another drag before further commenting, tone wryly amused, "Yeah, that's about what I thought." Risotto didn't respond further, not wanting to elaborate. He didn't need to. Prosciutto knew him well enough to know it took something specifically personal to genuinely set him off. Risotto's background known to the smoker, plus the fact he'd been upset over his lapse in memory, Prosciutto could piece things together. He also knew something else was bothering him about the situation. Something they didn't agree on. "You know what him being here means, right?"

"You're aware of my stance on that." There was a stiff edge Risotto's tone now, suggesting he wasn't about to budge.

"Tch, and I'm not suggesting to give the kid a gun right away." Prosciutto snapped. "What I'm saying is, he's going to join eventually. You, yourself, already noticed that he's interested because you stepped into his life. Made it better. Being here is giving him what he wants by proxy, and you know this."

His concern laid out before him Risotto was forced to face it. "Yes, there's no denying that. As I have with Pesci, I will not allow him to join until he's an adult. It's the least I can do to preserve what's left of his innocence."

Prosciutto didn't remark further. Far as he was concerned someone could join when able. He'd been in the mafia since birth essentially, it was his life, his heritage. When they'd met, he'd already been at home in the underworld. His father had taught him as he taught Pesci. Illegal or not, it was like any other job. However, he respected Risotto as their leader and wasn't about to question his decisions on how to raise his ward.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_This story is set to update monthly, but seeing as this is the second half of a chapter, and my irl job has cut back hours, I decided to update early. The next update will be in a month though. Hope you enjoy it. I went back and edited a few errors in chapter 1._

_Originally this was going to have a bit more happen, but I felt it was going to drag things out and this was just Giorno's introduction to the group so no need to. I wanted Giorno to be a bit younger, but that'd throw off Risotto's backstory time line so I had to go with nine. Next chapter will have year skip ahead and start an important mission that will gather the last two members~_

_Gelato is the most unhinged member of the group..._

_Can anyone guess who the new Abbacchio will be?_

_I should also mention that I do respond to guest reviews in my author notes!_


	6. Chapter 5 Metal Militia

Eyes cracked open. Eyesight bleary, everything looked like smears of colors and shades, reds, dark and light greys, putrid greens, luminescent yellow. Although everything was unclear, pristine vision wasn't needed. Everything would look the same as it had for...however long he'd been stuck in this hell.

Once more, for an uncounted time, he strained against chains that kept him bound. Again, to no avail. Intense heat that pounded down on him kept him weak. The minor effort caused him to breath heavily in exhaustion. Sweat poured from him and he slumped back against the metal pipes behind him, chains rattled from the sudden movement as if frightened. Absently he stared out, at the blank walls, at dried blood around him. He grounded his teeth, body shaking, before he lunged forward and let out a furious scream.

He hated them. He hated all of them. If he ever got free, it'd been the end of them. They'd pay for everything they took from him.

* * *

"Giorno, read chapter five and six. When you have completed doing so, I want you to write a comprehensive summary of both, development of the characters from the previous chapter, write down examples of the literary techniques we've discussed, and your general thoughts." Sorbet instructed as he wrote just that down on a chalk board. Once done he looked over at the now ten-year-old boy that sat at the desk in the center of his study. The room had been rearranged somewhat to make the study into a makeshift schoolroom. Both the chalkboard and wooden desk had been stolen from an upscale school's storage room-with the help of Formaggio's stand, Little Feet. The boy nodded dutifully and opened the book, "The Secret Garden". Chalk stick put down Sorbet sat down at his desk. "When you're finished, we will discuss your answers."

"Yes Mr. Buio." Giorno customarily responded, eyes on the pages. He'd asked for Sorbet's last name when he'd been told that the man would be teaching him. The token of respect had been noted by the man, though it made him no less strict a teacher. If anything, his straight A's had prompted the assassin to give him a harder lesson plan.

As he'd said, "Sharp minds need more challenges, or they'll dull from a lack of adequate stimulation and become slothful."

Giorno didn't mind it. This personal one on one education was something he looked forward to. The engagement between him and his new teacher wasn't like anything he'd seen from previous educators. He'd hadn't had bad teachers per say, though his last one hadn't done anything to really help him put an end to the bullying he'd endured. The best that'd been given was a metaphorical slap on the wrist or a slight telling off, which only made things worse for him after school. Once he'd had rocks thrown at him, he'd ran and they'd laughed. Despite this, Giorno did somewhat miss being surrounded by peers. If only faintly.

If he were to compare which company he enjoyed more between his new life and previous life...his new life would win by a good margin. He hadn't considered his old group of friends actually friends. They'd been bought. Giorno was grateful that Risotto had paid them off to be kind, he'd never be ungrateful that the harassment had been put a stop to. It had been like he'd been given a taste of what having real friends was like. It was sweet, but the core was made of plastic.

Now, he had a better idea of it. In the year he'd been with Risotto, Giorno had settled nicely with the squadron of assassins. As Illuso had predicted, Formaggio was the one he'd been sent to stay with most when Risotto went out on missions. He'd quickly come to think of the hitman as a friend. At best he'd stayed with him for barely a month cumulatively. Giorno had come to love his Russian Blue, Blu. Naturally it'd been apprehensive of a new person, at first, but warmed up quickly to him. Surprisingly so, from what Fromaggio had said when it already began to purr and nuzzle him, towards the end of the first day.

"Gelato, I'm in the middle of a schooling session." Giorno's focus on his work was interrupted by the firm tone of his teacher. He glanced back and saw the other household member peeking into the room with a rather coy smile on his face. As Giorno had seen before, Sorbet's words only seemed to usher the other man in.

While this was nothing new, Giorno couldn't help but watch it play out from the edge of his vision. He'd long since learned what Formaggio meant by the two being "really close". It was interesting to see, what Giorno saw, a more genuine relationship playout before him. He didn't see any actual love between his father-in-law and his mother. Nothing aside from physical interest anyway. The two of them didn't act affectionate, unless one wanted something from the other. Money for his mother and sexual favors for his father-in-law. They did go out on occasions, but those were infrequent. It wasn't like Gelato and Sorbet, who seemed inseparable.

"You know I love when you act like this." Gelato crooned as he strode his way over to the desk. Hands holding the edge of the desk he looked at Sorbet with a clear want in his hazel eyes.

"I am aware." Sorbet responded. He gestured back to Giorno. Whom immediately looked back to his book in an attempt to portray focus. It didn't work. "As I said, I'm in the middle of a teaching and this is a disruption."

The back and forth brought Giorno's thoughts to the day he found out the two men were an item. It'd also been during one of his class sessions. At the time, it'd been less than a weeks' worth of visits to the two's house and a few months into his stay with Risotto. He recalled they'd been going over mathematics at the moment, when Gelato entered the room. Sorbet, like currently, tried to dismiss his lover from the room only further heat his interest.

"You aren't going to leave, are you?" Sorbet questioned in a more rhetorical manner than genuine.

"Not until you at least give me a little something." Gelato put a finger to his bottom lip and smirked coyly.

The clear implication was what caused a click of realization to go off in Giorno's head. He lifted his head up and words popped right out. "You two are a couple?"

Sorbet and Gelato's attention turned to the boy; the moment interrupted. Giorno had a look of wide-eyed realization and youthfully proud of his own discovery. He'd been wondering what Formaggio had meant and now he'd figured it out on his own.

"Yes, and?" There was an unexpected edge of warning in Gelato's tone. Sorbet looked to his partner, watching his expression carefully.

Confusion held sway over Giorno only briefly. "Formaggio said you were close. I realize what he meant now." He creased a brow thoughtfully, "I'm not sure why no one told me earlier..."

"That's nothing to worry about Giorno." Sorbet stated. The boy's innocent naivety clear as day to him. He put a hand gently onto Gelato's and explained, "To put simply, we're selective about who we tell about our relationship. Of course, you were bound to find out. Risotto did mention that to me, but I saw no problem with it." He looked at Gelato as he said this. This seemed to settle whatever had upset the blond, enough that he eased his shoulders back. Sorbet looked back to Giorno inquiringly. "What do you think about us being a couple, Giorno?"

Giorno blinked a couple of times. He didn't understand exactly why any couple would ask him his opinion on being together. It was clear he was missing some sort of context. Certain he'd learn what context that was eventually, Giorno responded honestly. "Well, you two clearly love each other." He thought back to his previous home, voice duller. "More genuinely than my parents. They only really seemed to use each other. So, I think you're great together."

Next thing Giorno knew was Gelato suddenly wrapped his arms around him from the side. The sudden contact almost made him jump but it was quickly stalled by the blonde's declaration.

"I've made up my mind, Sorbet, let's keep him!"

Giorno was left bewildered.

Sorbet sighed. "Gelato, we can't do that. He's leader's kid..."

Ever since then, Gelato was overjoyed to have him come over to their home. Initially he was accepting, but now the hitman practically integrated him into his life completely. During breaks, he took him out and about, to get something to eat, or out back into his garden. Where Giorno found out that all the plants in the home were grown by the hitman as a personal hobby. He also found out during an outing, when he voiced a concerned about being recognized by someone, he'd been filed as a missing person, Gelato was the most kill happy of the squadron. His reply to his concern was, "Then I'll just have to kill that person. Nothing to worry about."

While the tone he said it in was, unnervingly, chipper, Giorno hadn't felt remotely threatened by the man. It was more so briefly alarming. The care was genuine. That, and nothing had actually come from the declaration, as of yet.

Sorbet, while not as open about it, also seemed to have warmed up to him. He asked him about how he was doing frequently and made sure he was comfortable, on the one occasion he stayed in the home over night. He was the busier of the two, often working away in his office, particularly because he was working on his curriculum, but it didn't feel as cold as compared to his previous caregivers. During one occasion, Giorno peeked into his office to see what he was doing. Even with how quiet he'd thought his approach had been the hitman picked up on, stopped what he was doing and asked,

"Is there something you need Giorno?"

"Oh, no, I was just wondering what you were doing."

"Hm, just working on next week's lessons. Would you like to have some tea? I believe I could use a break."

The memory caused Giorno to smile. It was a small moment, nothing in the grand scheme of things really, but the consideration shown by the more stoic of the couple warmed him. Killers as they were, he'd come to see that the group held genuine care for one another. The comradery was clear, even between the rivalry of Illuso and Formaggio. Now he'd been brought into that and was better for it.

No longer did he worry about abuse or neglect. Aside from some form of tension between him and Illuso, Giorno had little to worry about. The possibility of cops or retaliation from other gangs drifted in and out of his thoughts from time to time, but never lingered long. What helped was Risotto telling him that not even other members of Passione know of their whereabouts, or who the members of La Squadra di Esecuzione were. The only ones who knew them were the enigmatic Boss, their capo Polpo, and a scant number of others (though even then complete information on all of them was unlikely). Even if there was an attack of them directly the fact that all of them had powers. Even if he didn't know what all of them were yet, Giorno felt there was little concern.

They touted that they're the best hitmen in Passione after all.

Even with a lack of threat from the group itself, it'd taken Giorno a while to adjust to not having to worry about beatings. Particularly with multiple adult men to get used to. Constantly, he watched his own behavior and behavior of them. Only issue had been with Proscuitto's violent outbursts in his mentorship of Pesci, which led to a recoil from Giorno and a subsequent lecture on the behavior from Risotto. The problem calmed down after that, albeit at least from what Giorno had seen.

Emotionally, physically, and mentally, the year had allowed Giorno to heal and develop. Scars remained, but faded. His stoic expression changed more often, his reserve and cautious persona shed a few layers. Generally, was a happier child. His hair had grown out from the choppy bowl cut in this time. Risotto had asked if he wanted the hair cut back to the style but Giorno declined. It'd been his mother that'd always cut it that way, as it was the easiest to get done, not Giorno's own personal preference.

His life had been improved for the better again by Risotto Nero.

As he read through the book, Giorno felt an eagerness for the hitman leader's return and picked up the pace of his reading. Sooner he got done with his work, the sooner he could be ready for Risotto to come retrieve him. Instead of the man having to wait for him to finish. They'd likely linger around Sorbet and Gelato's home, but Giorno wanted to spend as much time as he could with his new caregiver.

* * *

"Chained and shadowed to be left behind

...

Join or be conquered the law of the land  
What will befall you"

Two years ago...

The silence of the apartment complex, pale orange halls was disrupted Risotto's footsteps as he walked towards his home. He'd completed a hit and was ready to check in for the night. Tomorrow, he'd contact his patron for the rest of his payment. He dug a hand into his jacket pocket for his keys when he spotted something jutting out from entrance. Risotto held pause at the odd sight of an envelope wedged between the door and the frame, right above the silver doorknob.

Perplexed by this, Risotto walked up to it as he pulled out his keys. He took the object from its resting place and checked to see who the sender was. Somewhat not surprisingly, there was no name or address marked on it. All that was written on it was his name at the top left corner. The back provided no further clues either. He looked at it a moment longer before he entered his home, feeling an air of unease follow him as she shut the door behind him.

As he headed to his small living room, Risotto picked up a letter opener from the foyer table. He cleanly sliced the envelope open once he sat himself down on the couch. Inside he pulled out what he saw to be a letter,

"Dear Mr. Nero,

This may come as an unexpected, and sudden, surprise, but our organization is always on the lookout for gifted individuals to add to our ranks. You've no doubt heard of our organization, Passione, especially with our rise to power here in Napoli. Our continued growth in size and influence, is what leads us to be on the lookout for those with skills such yourself. As with any large group we have our fair share of issues as it were. Both from within and outside. Issues that need to be dealt with.

Recently, I've been tasked with putting together a squadron of problem solvers of sorts and you've been on our radar for some time now. Pristine performance records are hard to come by, as is professionalism in such a, if you don't mind me saying, dirty job. It'd be such a waste to see our competitors make you an offer first. Especially with your recent development.

I could say more, but some things are much better discussed in person. I'm sure you can understand that. If you are intrigued, come visit me at the following address. Be sure to bring this letter and envelop with you as a token of proof.

Sincerely,

Polpo Giallo"

Letter put back into the envelope, Risotto sat where he was to take in the words of the letter. Flattery aside, it was clear to him there was an underlying show of power and threat to it. They'd been watching him, without his knowledge. Even with his cautious nature they'd monitored him perfectly. He hadn't even suspected anything.

He also got a feeling not answering the letter would be dangerous. It was never a good idea to ignore a formal message from the mafia. Especially when they were able to keep an eye on him so easily.

Then, they knew of his 'development'.

Risotto looked down at his hand. At his willing, metallic ghastly forms emerged up from within his palm, thin banded arms waving aimlessly. These...whatever they were, had made themselves known for over a month now. It still unsettled him to know things were living inside him, but the creatures had only proven to be beneficial to him. While they could say "load" the entities didn't seem sentient, that he could tell, and did whatever he willed them to without a moment's hesitation.

Concern of some strange form of parasite still lingered though. He needed answers. Unknowns were dangerous. This left him to wonder, why would the mafia know what these things were?

Prosciutto did mention once that there were rumors of Passione members having strange powers...Risotto thought. He pulled out the unmarked gun he had in his holster. The same one his friend had provided him to kill Maialino. He hadn't seen the mafioso in over a year, after he and his brother managed to move out of the rundown apartment.

I wonder how they're doing. He pulled out the managinze and said himself, "I should clean this."

The next day,

Risotto stood before a prison and peered out at it from behind sunglasses. He'd looked up the address the night before and had been surprised to see what it was attached to. Now he wondered what sort of gangster had enough pull to put together a squadron, while inside a prison. No other way to find out. He headed inside, past a green door beside the much larger metal gate, and was greeted with an odd reception area. Immediately ahead of him was an iron-barred gate, with another just beyond it. In front of it was a pair of guards with semi-automatic rifles at the ready.

"Who are you here to visit?" Questioned the staff member behind the reception desk. He was a shorter, squat man that appeared to be in his early forties. Behind him Risotto noticed several cameras. Most of which were on the hall beyond the gate. Another darker hall and a cell with something large and yellow in it. Last there was one focused on the reception area. The machines gave off a low hum that accompanied the buzz of the fluorescent lights above them.

A reminder for him to be on his best behavior. At least in front of the prison staff. Risotto had no record, not even a speeding ticket but the reaction was natural. Legalities aside, he was a criminal.

"I'm here to visit Polpo." Risotto answered once he stood in front of the reception desk.

A displeased look crossed the man's face and he motioned to a green bin in front of him. "Deposit all accessories in the bin there, from all your pockets. Watches, wallets, glasses, and anything else that you have. Then proceed forward to the body check, please."

His weapons in his car, Risotto walked over and emptied out his pockets. Wallet, keys, and some loose change was dropped into the bin. The man behind the desk eyed him. After a moment he realized what he meant. Carefully he took off his sunglasses, and put them into the bin as well. Glad his bangs partly obscured his eyes, he waited for the okay to move along. The man eyed him once more then jerked his thumb over towards the armed guards.

A loud buzzer went off as the barred gate was mechanically pulled open with a series of clanks. It fully drew back with a loud metal, shuddering, slam. Risotto walked through towards the solitary guard beyond it. As he passed by the two-armed guards he noticed the camera mounted above the gate and on the one beyond it. The gate slammed shut behind him once he made it to the body check station.

Risotto held his arms up as the guardsman began to pat him down and issued instructions. "Beyond this gate is Polpo, prisoner N-28. Once it opens, proceed down the hallway and you'll be at his cell. There is a thick bullet-proof glass, but you'll be able to speak with him no problem. You'll be prohibited from touching the glass and taking or giving anything to the prisoner. 15 minutes is your allotted time for visitation. The gate will shut behind you but if there is any sign of trouble, just give a shout."

Chech complete, the second gate pulled open with another loud buzz and a thick metal door with a barred slot was beyond that.

"I won't be going to a visitation room?" Risotto questioned as he headed over to the iron-door.

All the guard said in response was. "You'll see why once you meet him."

Puzzled, Risotto continued onward. The gate shut behind him and the iron door soon after with a heavier, thunderous slam. What followed it was a hollow silence.

The hall beyond it was a short one, but strangely decorated with stone heads carved into the walls. Mouths partially opened, eyes wide, as if they trying to say something, or were about to scream. It left an ominous and menacing atmosphere for such a short, shadowed hall. As Risotto headed towards the light, let in from the cell beyond the sheet of bullet-proof glass, he left an odd weight in the air.

A loud, jovial, deep voice halted his advance. "Right on time. Visitation only recently began. You didn't keep me waiting, Risotto Nero. Very, very good. First impressions are important. Especially with the position I'm about to offer you. Now come here were I can see you. So, we may get formally introduced to one another. We'll be getting to know each other well in time, I'm sure."

How did he know it was me? I haven't even gotten within view from the other side of the glass. It wasn't often Risotto felt intimidation but he approached the sheet of glass with cautious steps.

Risotto didn't have any idea of what this mafioso would look like, but what lay beyond the glass was not within his realm of imagination. The man was monstrously huge in height and girth. There was only a head's length between the man and the ceiling, not helped by the strange stalks that decorated his hat like it were a pin-cushion. Half of the cell was occupied by Polpo's mass alone. Though it was quickly evident the man lived rather comfortably despite the cramped conditions.

While there was no bed, from what he could see, there was a small desk with a pen, paper, clock, and lamp. The toilet and sink hardly looked bad as one would expect for a prison. Built into the wall was various amenities, TV, radio, VHS and DVD player, violin, toys, books, and a fridge packed with expensive foods and wines. Behind him on the wall were two paintings. It was less of a prison cell and more of a compact hotel suite. All this told him that the cameras and instructions was only for appearances.

"You live comfortably." Risotto stated as he stood before Polpo. His gaze drawn to the other's similar eyes. Was that a sign that he also had something dwelling inside him? If so, the rumor Prosciutto told him was true.

"Oh, I certainly do. No denying that." The capo twirled a glass of wine in hand. "The only thing I cannot do from within here is go to see art I so admire in person. Sculptures, paintings, chapels, and museums our homeland is rich in the way of art. Photographs don't do justice the beauty of being there in person, but I do have a couple of my own paintings. A Van Gogh and Gaugins. But I'm not deluded enough to not be aware a body, such as mine, would leave me vulnerable outside the safety of this cell. I do envy young and physical adept such as yourself, but I find myself too content with my ways."

He downed the rest of his win in a single go and sighed in a pleased manner. "Buuhuu, since you've shown up, I believe that you're interested in the offer I made to you?"

"As you said, it is better discussed in person." From a hidden pocket on the inside of his black leather jacket Risotto pulled out the envelope, with the letter inside. He slid it through an open tray slot in the door to Polpo's cell.

A deep chortle came from the engorged man. In a mix of a roll and lean, he moved over to the tray on his end of the door and took up the envelop. Polpo sighed from exertion and eased himself back against the pale, smooth, concrete wall of his room. He briefly checked the letter inside and was pleased to see it was the one he sent. "Good, can't let this clutter up space. I prefer to burn my rubbish."

Burn? Risotto failed to see how he'd accomplish such a task. Among the things in his cell, a lighter was not one he spotted.

"With my limited space, I need to keep things organized. Needless clutter frustrates me and makes me bite my nails." Polpo uttered as he began to do just that. Confused by the needless information Risotto looked at him with a pinched brow. Only to gawk in abject horror at the man gnawing off his right index and ring finger bit by bit. Risotto was left speechless and could only watch the bloody show before him. Blood was smeared all over Polp's bloated face and large hand. The sound of teeth slicing flesh and crunching bone, stomach churning. He almost felt entranced, unable to speak.

A click of a switch snapped Risotto back into focus, and quickly into bewildered confusion. In Polpo's hand was now an elaborate, silver, expensive looking lighter. All five fingers, fine and accounted for. No blood to be seen anywhere on the fancily, yellow clothed prisoner.

Polpo lit the letter on fire from the bottom. Let it burn to the point more than half was in flames, then nonchalantly tossed it over into the toilet at the other end of the cell. His aim was good as the torched paper sailed right into the bowl. The orange glow of the flames was visible for a short while afterwards before the water extinguished. Both it and whatever was left of the evidence, gone.

The ticking sound of the desk clock permeated the thoughtful silence Risotto found himself in. He knew what he'd seen. No way his mind could make something like that on the spot. He hadn't had anything that'd throw his senses off like this.

"Is this your 'development'?" He questioned.

"Buhuuuuh, perceptive. Part of it yes." Polpo answered as he clicked the lighter off. "Normally, for those without one, I'd give a trail that may entail facing the actual thing. However, you already have an effective gift, so there is no need."

"Then tell me, what are these things?" Risotto held his hand out for Polpo to see.

"Things?" Polpo echoed, emphasizing the s. Movement on Risotto's hand drew the capo in and an open expression of surprise appeared on his face at the sight of the small ghoulish figures. He folded his body over, neck craned over his folds, to get a better look. He tilted his head in intrigue and exclaimed. "Fufufu, this is a new one. Colony stands are rare, but this is the first time I've seen one like this."

Risotto retracted his hand towards his chest as Polpo sat back and poured himself another glass of wine. "What you've developed is called a stand. A manifestation of your soul. Your fighting spirit. If your concerned for your health, you needn't worry. You've had your stand for over a month now, yes?" Risotto nodded slowly. "If you couldn't handle your stand, you'd be dead by now, in most cases, and you look to be in good health."

While Risotto was unnerved that the man had knowledge of how long this stand had revealed itself, he couldn't help but feel a weight of concern be lifted off his shoulder. Least now he didn't have to worry about these things eating him from the inside out.

"It's customary for users to name their stands. What will you call yours?" Polpo inquired before a quick sip of wine.

"Metallica." Risotto answered without a second's thought. He closed his hand and felt the colony stand recede back into his veins.

"Fitting." Polpo remarked. A knowing glint in his similarly dark eyes. "Now then," He clicked. "Onto business. Our time together is short. The position I have to offer you is a significant one. The Boss has tasked me to make an elite group of hitmen stand users. This will be the first special unit under my authority. A momentous moment for the both of us, as I want you to lead this group: La Squadra di Esecuzione."

To this, Risotto was floored. "Me?"

"Buuhuuhuu, yes, of course, you will need to prove yourself. I cannot not simply just hand you a leadership role, even with your skill and stand. You see, because of my situation, trust..." Polpo held a moment of pause, pondering how to justly put what he had to say. He continued as he offhandely swirled his wine. "Trust is what is most valuable to me. I need to be able to know that you will do what is asked of you without me being there. Especially for those who will be under my direct authority. Trust is the most valuable and precious thing in this world. Disrespecting my trust is to tarnish my name, a most heinous act in my eyes." The look of warning in Polpo's black and green eyes were clear as he bored them down into Risotto's. Sheer size difference between the two amplified the effect. "And as it were, a team leader under me has done just that. He has taken a cut of money that belonged to me. He's a manager at one of one of the casinos I have control of. He's taken my trust for granted and I will not turn a blind eye to such treason.

He's a stand user as well, a good one at that. This is your test. Defeat a leader to become a leader, cleanse this stain from my territory. Understood?"

"Understood. How will the hit details be given?" Risotto questioned. By now he was almost eager to get going. This was big. The biggest opportunity he'd been given in his life. The added possible challenge of facing another with an ability would break of the monotony of his hits. While also allowing him to see how well his, newly dubbed, Metallica faired against other stands.

"The details will be waiting for you when you arrive home. You will not be given any details on the specifics of stands. A leader should be able to adapt quickly, don't you agree?"

"I do." He nodded, feeling a bit more of a thrill towards the unknown.

"Once your job is complete, return to me here and we'll have a drink to celebrate, buuhuu." Polpo chortled with a raise of his wine glass.

* * *

"Oh, through the mist and the madness  
We are trying to get the message to you"

1996, Present day...

"It's been a while, Capo Polpo." Risotto greeted as he walked into the familiar prison hall of mafia officer. The man hadn't changed at all since he'd last seen him or since he'd first met him. He still wore the same two layered, yellow, tunic with elaborate lace at the end. The pale blue lipstick was still the same shade as well.

"Too long, but you know how things are." Polpo returned from the other side of the glass. From his hidden fridge he offered the hitman a glass of wine, which Risotto courteously accepted with a bow of his head and thanks. Between stuffing grapes into his mouth, right off the bushel, Polop requested, "How about we catch up a bit before we get to business?"

"Of course, Capo." Risotto took the sip of the rich wine. It was a strain far too opulent for his blood, but a glass once in a blue moon during his check-ins with his capo wasn't something to turn up. He was essentially a guest in what may as well be Polpo's home. It was simply good manners.

"Excuse my nosiness, but I couldn't help but be curious at the word that you've taken a child into your care." Polpo casually said before he washed down the grapes. Used to the ever-present eye of the organization, Risotto was unphased by sudden mention. Polpo arched a brow as he looked his black clad subordinate over. "You don't exactly seem like the type to like children, Risotto."

"I have no aversion to them." He responded honestly. Well aware of how his appearance would lead one to think this.

Polpo hummed thoughtfully as he leaned against the wall of his cell. "Have you, checked if he has a stand?"

Risotto paused mid-drink. "No Capo, why?"

He knew why Polpo was asking, but he had to keep face. The man was in charge of recruitment. The fact that Giorno was a child mattered little to him. He kept his exterior calm as the huge Polpo leaned over him from beyond the glass and pointed down to him. "I'm certain you've heard that stand users are drawn to each other, seemingly by fate itself. The fact the child was drawn into your life, in of itself, is sign he may possess one"

"I see, yes I have heard of that. I'll test him when I'm next with him." This seemed to settle Polpo on the matter as he moved the conversation on. Risotto didn't plan on actually testing Giorno.

"Good, won't hurt to do so. That aside, I've noticed since Formaggio joined that none of the recruits I've assigned to your squadron survived past two weeks."

Risotto nodded, unaffected by the losses. "Yes, we seemed to have a run of bad luck in that regard. We cleaned up after their failures. I'm sure your aware."

"Fufu, yes, I'm aware of your trial period. It's been effective in weeding out the weak." Polpo flicked out his fingers as if dispelling dust. "You and the rest of your men's performances speak for themselves. So long as your men keep that up, the loss of failures is nothing to me, buuhuu." He put what was left of the bushel into his mouth and pulled the main stem from his teeth, picking the rest of it clean with gluttonous efficiency. Risotto minded himself with his wine as Polpo noisily mashed the mess with his teeth and gulped it down. He sighed, pleased. "It still is unfortunate though. How are the rest of your men?"

"They're managing well. Though, Formaggio is getting antsy with the lack of work assigned to him. Otherwise no real issue to report." Risotto stated. Hopefully the little mention would get more work pushed towards the ginger's way. If so, it'd put the rivalry between him and Illuso on more even terms, and get him to refine his skill more. He came back injured too often for Risotto's liking. It was concerning. Lack of practice would do him no good.

"Good, good. The assignment I have for your men will solve that problem there." Polpo announced with a grin. A sharp look of attention from his subordinate led Polpo to further exposit. "One of our rival gangs here in Napoli, La Meravigli, has made a push to figure out stands." The normally affable expression of Polpo soured to one of restrained anger. "By killing off low ranking members of our organization and taking their children who have stands. This action can't go responded to." His mounting anger began to cause his body to shake, barely held back. "The Boss is outraged and wants them to be put in their proper place. Your squadron is tasked to locate where they're keeping their captives, those children belong to Passione, and retrieve them. Kill anyone in the process, enough bodies piled up should teach them a lesson."

The mental image settled the giant. Polpo snickered in dark amusement. "Your squadron has quite the paycheck coming in." A recollection and he added, "Oh, and a traitor is suspected to be the cause of this. If you discover any, punish them. Such a disrespect towards the Boss will not be tolerated. To remain on top, we must be the only ones with stands."

Risotto looked into the red liquid in his glass. Silently he swigged the rest of it down and placed it on the tray on his side of the cell door. As he walked away, Risotto accepted the task. "Understood, capo, consider it done."

"Buuhuuhuuu, I'm certain it is."Polpolaughed. He while away on his wine with an all too pleased smirk on his face.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Honestly, if Risotto didn't know what a stand was when he first saw his stand...that could've been terrifying, considering it lives inside him. Yeah, I plan on writing that scene out._

_Next chapter might be a bit long, might need to break it up we'll see. Going to be placing the song lyrics in more appropriate places from now on, think it works better. Again, in a month unless something happens_


	7. Chapter 6 Break Me, Shake Me

_"I never thought I'd change my_  
_Opinion again_  
_But you moved me in a way that I've_  
_Never known"_

"You're here early Formaggio." Gelato said as he went over to greet him in the main hall, hand placed on the pale, blue-green wall as he leaned against it. He perked when the red-head held up his cellphone, showing a text sent to him by Risotto. Gelato moved closer and read it before he grinned eagerly. "Oh, a group meeting for a mission. It's been too long since we've needed a group effort to get something done! Can't wait to hear the details."

Formaggio put his phone away with a bemused snort. "You would be, you pscyho."

A crooked, toothy grin affixed itself on the blond hitman's face. Already anticipating the future kills, he didn't deny the remark. "There's nothing wrong with enjoying one's work. Is there?"

"Is such a thing as being too into something." His cohort remarked as he moved past him. He looked off towards the makeshift class room. "GioGio, is here right?"

Pulled from his red stained thoughts, Gelato's expression returned to being casual. "Of course, they're just about to wrap things up. By the time leader arrives they'll be done." He followed Formaggio as he headed to the living room. The room lightly bathed in the soon to be afternoon light. The light grey couch was bookend by to side tables and fronted by a provincial stained coffee table. Around the room was various potted plants grown by Gelato himself, which, in all honesty, he treated like his children. Some were ferns others were taller tropical green leaves like birds of paradise plants. While indoors it was almost like a wild garden.

"Even with how much love has up the difficulty he's taking it in stride." Gelato looked up and sighed wistfully. "Really, if leader had told us about him sooner, I would've taken him in myself. Such a bright sweet boy didn't deserve to be with sacs of crap for parents."

Formaggio dropped himself onto the couch and chuckled. "I'm surprised you haven't gone to off the bitch."

Seat taken next to him, Gelato thought back. "Actually, I asked if he wanted me to and he said no." A noise mixed between a laugh and a choke came from his companion. As Formaggio coughed, trying to gather himself, Gelato innocently asked, "What?"

"You don't just ask a kid that!" Formaggio wheezed with a big grin.

"I wanted to respect his wishes, so I had to ask!" Gelato huffed. A hand placed defensively on the center of his chest.

"Okay, you got a point there." Admitted his friend while he lightly shooed away Gelato's irritation with his hands. Formaggio snorted amusedly. "Still. What a thing to ask a ten-year-old. Only you'd do that." He pointed to the blond with a playful smirk. Gelato wasn't so impressed by his teasing. Arms crossed behind his head, Formaggio asked, "Why'd GioGio want her spared? Just cause she's his Mom?"

Irritation lingered a moment longer before focus returned to the moment in question. A thoughtful look in hazel eyes, Gelato recanted, "Sort of."

_"When the madness stops then you_  
_Will be alone"_

_It was a sunny day, Giorno was on a break from his schooling and offered to help Gelato with his garden work. Touched by the child's offer the hitman gladly accepted. He uprooted weeds, then pruned bushes while Giorno watered his herbs and vegetables. As he evened out the edges of a rose bush, he looked to the boy. Giorno moved about with the water pail, looking plenty happy to carry out his simple task. It'd taken time but layers of his protective shell had been shed to let his youthful playfulness shine through._

_However, the fact that the boy had to regain something that was natural, stoked the embers of murderous intent. Gelato cared little for others outside of his circle, his family, but anyone who messed with those dear to him were on the chopping block. He'd done so to the one that dared to ruin the life of his beloved Sorbet. That time though, Gelato hadn't done it himself. This time around he was more able to do so._

_Even still, he tempered himself. This was a personal matter not his own. Assumptions would be disastrous._

_"Giorno." His call got the boy to look to him. Gelato paused his work and looked back to him, expression nondescript. "Would you like your mother to pay for the way she treated you? Or rather lack thereof?"_

_In an instant the boy's expression went pale. Before any further fear could show itself, he covered it up with empty indifference. The same expression he often wore when first getting used to the squadron. Gelato noted this but let the boy speak. "No." Giorno went back to his task, likely to further hide his expression. "She may have not acted like a mother to me, but she still is my mother. She did nothing for me, so it's fair I do the same."_

_Gelato found himself in a moment of wonder from what Giorno said. It was clear he'd put some thought into the subject of his mother. No wonder why, but the result still surprised him._

"I told him I understood and we left it at that. He perked right back up by the time I finished with the roses." Gelato wrapped up. He observed as Formaggio rolled around what he'd heard inside his head.

"So basically," He began. Abruptly he held his hand out in the air, as if mid chop. "He said she's not worth the effort."

"Basically." Clicked Gelato.

Formaggio faintly shook his head with an amused huff. "He is something."

The two idled around by watching the in-room television, which sat on a stand with two hutches beside it that housed more plants and framed photographs, and a mix of chatter. Nothing too entertaining was on. A short while later, Formaggio tilted his head to peer into the hall when he heard a pair of footsteps leaving the study. As expected, Giorno and Sorbet were heading over to them. Once Giorno noticed him he brightened and briskly hurried over to the red-jacketed hitman.

"Formaggio!" He greeted once he made his way over to the couch. The man showed his appreciation by ruffling his hair. Shortly behind him came in Sorbet, who stood by the entertainment center.

"Hey GioGio, finally growing out of that god-awful haircut." Formaggio noted. The formerly shaved back of his head now had a scruffiness to it and his bangs were brushed off to the left side. Giorno beamed at the notice and nodded. Formaggio raised a brow inquiringly. "Any idea what you're going to do with it?"

Giorno mused over this a moment then smiled widely. Excitement bubbled in his voice as he answered, "I always wanted a braided ponytail!"

"Huh, going to take a longer length to do that. But hey, go for it." Formaggio hadn't figured anything in particular but it was clear the boy had his mind set on this. Wasn't his hair, so whatever. He gave a slight shrug. "Anyway, I got something for you."

Quickly the look of excitement was positively brimming in the child's wide eyes. He looked over the hitman's person in attempt to try and locate his gift. The jittery excitement from Giorno was enough to earn a brief laugh from Formaggio. From one of his back pants pockets he presented the boy with a switchblade. Then handle was black wood covering save for the silver button and other metal fasteners that held it together.

"A switchblade?" Giorno guessed as he looked at the folded weapon.

Formaggio could see this wasn't exactly what the kid had expected. He'd learn to appreciate a more practical gift. He pressed the silver button on the side and in flash a nine-inch, flung out suddenly enough that the boy jumped. Once Giorno soon settled and looked at the stiletto blade with fascination. Formaggio moved onto another demonstration. He pressed his thumb on the lever at the base of the blade. Then, with his fore and index fingers, he smoothly swung the knife back into its resting place. A soft click, indicated the dangerous tool was safely secured.

"That's, how you close it." Formaggio stated before he flipped the weapon over in hand. The metal end faced towards him, Giorno took the offered gift. Finger pointed to the kid, the hitman and spoke more firmly. "If you're going to be around us. You should have something to defend yourself with. Seeing as you don't have a stand."

Now with an explanation Giorno was less perplexed and nodded. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, GioGio." Replied Formaggio.

"What are you doing here so early?" Sorbet's leveled voice drew the red-head's attention away from the boy. He motioned a tapered hand over to the wooden framed, circular clock that hung above the television. "You usually arrive around six to seven."

Briefly the younger hitman was confused by his lack of knowing. Typically, Sorbet was on top of messages from their leader. Soon after; however, he recalled he'd just been schooling the group's collective ward. "Risotto called us all in for a group meeting, we got a big mission on our hands."

At this mention, Sorbet pulled his cell from out of his pocket. He clicked it awake and saw he did indeed have a message. "I see."

"I'll get to readying something for when the others arrive. I left my phone in the kitchen anyway." Gelato casually said as he began to saunter off. Sorbet followed right after him, saying that he'd help. Amused, he called back to the two left in the living room. "Your uncle will watch you now, GioGio!"

"Uncle?" Giorno parroted before he looked back to said man.

Formaggio likewise seemed amused by his new title and rolled with it. "Yeah, unlce Formaggio! Been over a week since we've last seen each other let's catch up kiddo! Kick back and chat before Risotto gets here." He was surprised by how elated Giorno got. Formaggio thought he'd be happy but he didn't expect the kid to jump onto the couch and hug him. Arms raised up to accommodate the boy Formaggio uttered, "Woah!"

A while after, the kid settled down and got out some paper and crayons, formerly kept somewhere in the study, to draw with. Formaggio sat back and watched the kid go to work on whatever it was he set out to draw. He'd asked but Giorno didn't tell him what it was, saying he wasn't done yet. When he laid on the black and yellow though, well it gave away what, or rather who, he was drawing. Formaggio kept quiet though. No need to burst the kid's bubble over something like this.

However, the mention of him being his 'uncle' brought about a question.

"Hey, GioGio, your father, he was your step-dad, right?" He inquired, much to the boy's confusion. He only nodded as he tried to figure where this was headed. "Do you know who your biological father is?"

Giorno put his crayons down for the moment. "Well, I have a picture with his name on it." He pulled his backpack, that laid by the table where he was coloring, over to him. A quick reach into the bag produced a plain brown wallet. Giorno shifted where he sat to face Formaggio and he passed it to the adult. "It's the only photo in there."

Curiosity peaked, Formaggio flipped the wallet open and took at the look inside. Where the ID would normally be placed was a rather strange photo. The typical portrait style photo, family group, or couple was not present. Instead Giorno's biological father, was faced away from the viewer, countenance mostly obscured by shadow. The only thing Formaggio could see was he was blonde, red-eyes, and very muscular.

_Holy shit, this bastard is ripped as hell. Also, what a weird photo to leave. Some sort of glamor shot?_ Oddness aside Formaggio looked at the name signed in red ink. "DIO, huh?"

Formaggio handed the wallet back to Giorno. "So, what's the story between him and your Mom?"

Giorno hummed to himself and went back to working on the picture. "Mom didn't really know him. They met one night and had a 'one-night stand' and that was it. All he left behind was that photo."

"Oh, that sort of thing." Formaggio awkwardly remarked. Wasn't too uncommon, but he couldn't really say much considering he didn't know this DIO guy. Far as he knew the man didn't know he had a kid. He rubbed his neck then offered, "You could ask Sorbet to look into it. He's the one that usually digs around for information for us."

This got Giorno to stop and look back to him. A bit of hope in his light green eyes. "You think he could?"

"Yeah, far as I've seen there's nothing he can't find out." Formaggio stated self-assuredly.

Giorno felt his certainty rub off on him and gave the idea more thought. He hadn't ever thought there being any chance to learn more about his biological father. His mother didn't even know his last name. All he knew was they met somewhere in Egypt. He didn't look Egyptian so Giorno felt he was a tourist similar to his mother. At worst nothing could be found out. It couldn't hurt to ask, he supposed.

The sound of the front door opening pulled Giorno away from his thoughts. A familiar stride caused his expression to light up. He immediately dropped what he was doing and hurried over to greet the new arrival to the home.

When the child rounded the corner into the main hall, Formaggio leaned towards the coffee table to get a better look at the crayon picture. Upon seeing what it was he picked it up and began to snickered a little to himself. Much as he wanted show the others, he'd let the kid finish it first.

"Welcome back." Giorno greeted.

La Squadra's leader halted when the ten-year-old latched onto his leg. This had become routine after Giorno began his tutelage under Sorbet. It was a surprise the first time, not the sort of greeting he'd received prior. By now it was the norm. He reached down and patted the boy's head. "How did today's lesson go, Giorno?" When he spotted something in his hand he asked, "Why do you have a switchblade?"

"It went well." Giorno pulled back and held the sheathed weapon in both hands out in front of him for his caretaker to see. "Formaggio, gave it to me as a gift."

The explanation was taken with a nod.

"I'll show you how to use it when we arrive home." Risotto said as he moved past the boy. It was unconventional, to put lightly, to let a child have such a weapon, but with his way of life better safe than sorry. He'd been meaning to get Giorno some means to defend himself, but had been caught up in his balancing act of seeing to the child's other needs met and team management. Once he was a bit older, he'd teach Giorno how to use a gun.

Soon as Risotto moved past him, Giorno followed suit. Promise of being taught how to use his new weapon caused him to perk up. He'd wonder if the hitman would teach him how fight and the confirmation was duly noted. To achieve his dream, Giorno wanted to learn all that he could from the squadron leader. Along with asking Sorbet if he could find anything out about his biological father, he'd ask Risotto what else he'd be willing to teach him.

"What's this big mission we're taking on leader?" Formaggio eagerly question when the two arrived in the living room.

"I'll explain once the others arrive." Risotto responded. He disliked repeating himself, when he could save himself the unneeded extra effort by explaining it to them all in one go.

His subordinate sighed. "Yeah, I figured as much."

Giorno went back to working on his picture. He sat on his knees as he switched to a yellow crayon. His switchblade put safely away in his school bag.

The commotion in the kitchen let Risotto know that Sorbet and Gelato were at work making something for the meeting. He sat himself down on the seat next to his subordinate and watched his ward color away on his paper. Formaggio flipped the TV to the news. The station was going on about the usual, weather, politics, drug issues, and the local crime syndicates fighting with one another. Currently there was a spike in the turf wars with Passione's rise to the top. Old gangs weren't taking kindly to that.

"Thank you for the gift you gave Giorno." Risotto thanked suddenly. Enough so that it took a moment for his cohort to process what had been said to him. It was shrugged off.

"I had an extra and figured you'd get the kid one eventually. No biggie." Formaggio said casually. He looked to the boy, still focused on his picture, and questioned. "You going to be taking him home, or letting him sit in on our meeting? Cause I'm pretty sure what we're going to be talking about isn't kid friendly."

"Neither." The answer was got Formaggio to turn his head to his leader. "It'd be negligent to leave him home alone. He'll stay up here while we conduct our meeting." Then in a firmer tone, Risotto addressed his ward. "Understand Giorno?"

The boy looked back and nodded.

"Good."

* * *

"I'm glad that everyone was able to make it in time for this meeting." Risotto began as he stood before his collected subordinates. There was a brief mutter of it being no issue from his men then quiet. "As you've no doubt heard, the other gangs in Napoli have been attempting to strike back. By way of learning about stands." A uniform confirmation. Risotto sat himself down on the head chair, before he continued on, "Today I met with capo Polpo, and he informed me how La Meravigli have been going about that. They've been offing low ranking members and taking their children."

"Holy shit." Formaggio gaped. The sentiment seemed to be shared amongst the others. He brushed a hand across the side of his head. "How the hell will that get them anywhere?" His gritted his teeth in a stiff scowl. "Aside from pissing the Boss and the rest of the gang off?"

"Have any ransoms been made?" Illuso questioned as he lounged against the side of his chair's arm.

"None that I've been informed of." Risotto responded.

"Someone must've told them that stands can be inherited down a family line." Prosciutto guessed, he looked to their leader for confirmation.

"Capo Polpo, does believe that a traitor is involved. As for why they are doing this, it's likely because it'd be easier to get information from them." The information refocused the other back onto their black clad leader, a sterner expression on their faces. Traitors were a serious business in the families. Especially so in Passione with their enigmatic boss who valued secrets highly. There was no tolerance for such things. Numerous times they'd been sent to deal with such individuals. They were the problem solvers. This was one of their main problems to fix. "Our job is to find the locations were their holding these children. Kill any members of La Meravigli present, boss wants to leave the corpses to send a message."

Formaggio looked to Sorbet and Gelato, who once again shared a seat, with a grin. "What'd I tell you?"

Gelato giggled to himself. "You were right there."

Risotto ignored this and continued. "If we find any evidence of a traitor, we're to do away with them as well."

Uncertainly Pesci spoke up. "What about the kids? What're we going to do with them?"

The question caused a moment of pause among the group. Illuso put an end to the hold up with a groan, "Don't tell me we're actually going to become babysitters."

Risotto gave the mirror stand user a brief look before he answered. "I'm uncertain at the moment. We'll likely need to send them to their next of kin or affiliates of their parents. I'll check in with capo. At the latest, we'll receive a message from boss on what to do." He straightened himself and clasped his hands together on his lap. "Regardless, here's the plan."

The other hitman straightened themselves attentively, some more eagerly than others. A big mission would rake in the money and favor from the boss. This was the biggest mission they'd been given to date. This would further push their position of being elites among Passione. Meaning more money and respect. This could possibly be a push towards gaining their own territory. If that happened, their leader would become capo. Best efforts had to be put into this, beginning with paying attention to their tasks.

* * *

_"God, don't you know that I live with a ton_  
_Of regret?"_

Sometime later, Giorno sat on the couch reading a book on reptiles. He'd finished with his picture a good while ago but he got the feeling the adults would be discussing their plans for a couple hours at least. He was tempted to try and sit by the top of the stairs to try and eavesdrop, but he a got the feeling that wouldn't slip by Risotto's notice. The hitman team in general was very perceptive, to varying degrees, but he hadn't been able to walk behind them without their notice. He'd tried a couple of times with Risotto, out of curiosity to see if he could, but never came close. Giorno was also certain that his guardian wouldn't be happy with the attempt. Risotto had been far better to him than his father-in-law, but hadn't budge on his stance of keeping him distant from direct involvement.

_Why is he so strict about keeping from the gang, if he's a part of it?_ Giorno wondered as he looked back to the pages of his book. He supposed it was a personal ethics, but that just brought the question to why he had that belief. The gang itself didn't seem too picky. He'd seen children barely older than himself being a part of gangs. That brought about the question of how his guardian felt about that. _Can't be good_. Giorno wasn't sure when he'd get answer to this question. It felt too personal to ask.

However, Giorno felt he'd get the answer eventually. He was staying with him after all. More than likely he'd learn when he pressed to join. The fact that Risotto was trying to keep him safe from this dangerous life brought a touched smile to his face. It faltered. Anxiety cropping up in his stomach. Lightly Giorno bit the inside of his lip. He prayed that this wouldn't put a wedge between him and his caretaker. On the other hand, if things worked out, them working together, Giorno couldn't think of anything better.

"Sorry for the wait Giorno." Risotto's voice came up from the stairwell. His arrival caused Giorno to quickly put his book away into his backpack. The picture picked up as he passed the table.

"It's okay. I had my book." Giorno said, brushing off the apology. He then held up the picture for Risotto to see. "I made this for you."

A look of surprise on his face, Risotto took up the picture. This was the first time the child had made anything for him since he'd come under his care. Gifts weren't something eh often got either. Not due to a lack of comradery from his men. More so because he didn't ever make mentions of want for things. This left it a bit of a conundrum to guess what interest he had outside of his job or things he didn't already have.

The picture itself, was a simple cartoon-like depiction of his face. Hat and all. The face rounded and eyes large and shaped like half circles. Expression his nearly ever-present, neutrality. The detail of the letters on his hat were even in the right order. His silver hair achieved through coating white over the grey. Decidedly it was cute and showed talent for the craft.

"Wow, he really nailed your personality." Remarked Prosciutto as he filed up from the downstairs room. An amused smirk on his face. Behind him Pesci stifled a snicker by covering his mouth with his hands.

"Art really does imitate life." Formaggio chipped in with a big grin. The expected reaction from the others was really what'd he'd hoped for. Good nature amusement.

Risotto of course responded with only a sigh of acceptance. He took the remarks as they came and responded to Giorno. "Thank you, Giorno."

"Are you going to put it up on the fridge?" Gelato cheekily questioned.

"Yes." Risotto's curt response deflated the prior's amusement. It did encourage a coo of endearment from the blond. Once the others got a chance to see the picture and comment, it was neatly folded and put away in a coat pocket. The day having turned to night, Risotto headed to the front door. "Giorno, it's time for us to head home. You need to get to bed."

"Wait, I want to ask Sorbet about something." His guardian arced a brow to this but allowed the boy to go speak with his subordinate who looked equally questioning.

* * *

_As he dazed in and out of consciousness, concept of time only vaguely present, he managed to register of one of them entering his prison. This achieved by the brief reprieve of cold gracing his skin. The heavy door grated shut. He was hand fed some kind of soup. It was milk warm. Too out of it to really register the flavor. His unsympathetic handler spat the same nonsense that, if he was just more cooperative, then things would be easier on him. He only gave him a resentful glare, and then promptly bit his hand. The taste of blood more readily recognized._

_A clatter of plastic. Then he smelled his own blood after being punched in the face. He ignored the explicatives shot at him. Head hung low, he only continued to glare. His defiance won out and with a thunderous slam, he was left alone again._

_Never, ever, would he submit to these bastards. Give them what they wanted. He didn't care if it'd be the end of him. Just to spite them. Especially that backstabbing bastard. Especially him._

_He hadn't seen or heard him since they tossed him into this hell hole. Coward. He'd better hide from him after what he'd did to his arm._

_He'd trusted him._

_"But you've hurt me in a way that I've_  
_Never known_"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_So sorry for being late on uploading this! I was experiencing a bit of block on the latter half of this, primarily the last scene, as well as a procrastination rut. I'm working on being more productive so I'll try and keep on this and keep the next update on time. I_

_Originally I was going to have Giorno's Mom killed off eventually. But after running it by some friends, I realized there was no logical way of doing it without it being forced. She literally wasn't worth the effort lol. I also originally wanted to address the DIO photo sooner during the second chapter but I didn't like how it diverted the chapter. Then I tried to address it during the Children of Cain chapters but there was already so much going on. So here it is now. In the manga it's just a headshot of DIO but I found the anime version funny lol._

_We'll be getting to the La Squadra members chapters next! First up will be Gelato & Sorbet. Have fun trying to guess the names of their stands and abilities! I've left clues as to them. Both names will be from the same band. I'm not basing them off of any other versions (least not intentionally). Also reference to ReversalSun's "Story of Assassins" in this ch._


	8. Chapter 8 Golden Part 1

"Everybody wants to sell what's already been sold  
Everybody wants to tell what's already been told"

"Well love, how is the search going?" Gelato asked.

The study room was dark. Pale light of the computer screen barely illuminated Sorbet's features. Most of the light was blocked by his body and left the rest of the room shrouded. The hallway light carved out a small section of the floor but only left contours of surrounding furnishings. A sight familiar to Gelato. Sorbet often got absorbed into his hunts for information. He saw no reason to turn the lights on if he was going to be staring at a screen all night. So much so that the outside world didn't exist to him. Like now.

Gelato sighed when he barely got a hum in response. He shook his head, walked over, a cup of hot coffee in each hand. Sorbet offhandedly reached to grab it, only for it to be pulled out of reach. Playfully he chided, "Uh-uh, answer me first."

Sorbet conceded. "On which search?"

"Both." Gelato relinquished the coffee. "You've been at all week, but this is the first time a while that you've pulled an all night'er."

"It has been..." Sorbet held a pause of realization. He looked to his partner with faint surprise. "It's morning already?"

Amused Gelato pecked him on the cheek. "That's right. I knew you had to be onto something if you didn't come to bed. So, I left you be."

Sorbet gave a hum of appreciation. "Thanks. As for what I found...It's interesting. Firstly, I found no record of this "DIO Brando" in Cairo at all. Nothing in airport records or hotels." He took a brief pause for a drink of coffee. "Or of any homeownership, records, nothing. Far as I can tell, he was never even there."

This caught his partner's intrigue. He leaned forward to get a look at the computer screen, and read briskly over what Sorbet had collected. Gelato pursed his lips thoughtfully. "An alias perhaps?"

"Or he used an alias wherever he stayed." Sorbet said in response, eyes kept on the screen.

"That's possible." Gelato agreed. He held the side of his jaw, mulling over the prospects. He sighed. "I guess without much to go on it'd be hard to tell whether this name is real or not." A thought occurred to him and the blond frowned. "If it is a fake name though, to give a photo with it-for what? Just to keep the possible mother of his back? Why give the photo at all really?" He huffed. "Some ego."

Sorbet scrolled down along the document he'd built up. "Possibly." He clicked on a link he'd copied. A newsletter translated into Italian, originally from a post in Africa. As Gelato skim read it over, Sorbet summarized it. "Ten years ago, an unmanned cruiser was found. On board was a strange metal coffin with a hidden compartment inside. Apparently forced open with a blowtorch. Only signs left by the missing crew was three half cups of coffee."

Gelato only tilted his head towards Sorbet. Still propped against the desk. "How does this connect with Giorno's biological father?"

"This." Sorbet clicked onto a closeup shot of the coffin. At first Gelato just thought it was a just some fancy gold plating, but quickly he noticed that the gilding was letters: D-I-O. At first, his partner gawked at this reveal then quickly motioned for him to click off. Sorbet did so and let him double-check what he'd read before.

"Love, sorry, but I can't buy that Giorno's father-apparently-survived for who-knows-how-long, it takes for barnacles to collect on something -inside a metal coffin. In the ocean!" Gelato indignantly objected, looking bewildered that this was even suggested. He held the side of his head as he took a breath and gathered himself. He looked at the still collected Sorbet. Even with knowing his partner well, he couldn't believe this train of thought was about to continue. "Okay. Why do you think it actually has anything to do with Giorno's father?"

Realizing the obvious possible answer, he held a hand up for pause. "Besides stands."

A faint, amused, smirk briefly appeared on Sorbet's collected countenance. He turned the black office chair to face Gelato, whom pulled back from the desk to keep a less cluttered space between them. "DIO, is not a common name in the African area. This was the only published record I could find in the area at the time-and this occurred one year before Giorno was born, 1984." This perked the fellow hitman's interest a bit, but skepticism remained in his eyes. "Unfortunately, nothing seems to come of it. Interest appears to have vanished from the public conscious shortly after. There wasn't anything for the local police to go off of."

Sorbet turned back to the screen and scrolled down to a table he'd constructed. "As for stands being involved, well, I have evidence to back it up. Do you recall where the stand arrow was recovered?"

It took a moment of thought but Gelato replied, "Egypt."

"And Giorno's father was in Cairo." Sorbet added.

"Dear," Gelato started, "unless you have more evidence-that sounds like mere coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidences." Sorbet answered evenly. A bit of an edge was on the tips of his words. "Not with stands involved. And, I do have more." Gelato conceded and nodded for him to go on. "Two years later, 1986, Passione was founded with the discovered stand arrow from Egypt. The arrow was given to Polpo from the Boss. Three years after that, 1989, there was a string of unexplained occurrences in Egypt. A plane from an organization called Speedwagon was found crashed in the desert, two pilots were found dead. One was drowned in the desert the other looked to have somehow been decapitated by unknown means. Not far from that a man was freshly buried. A man called Alessi was taken to the hospital after crashing face first onto a sidewalk in Luxor; however, a majority of his wounds seemed to have occurred prior to falling. No explanation was found to how he'd been seemingly launched into the air.

On the same day, a woman called Mariah was found, nearly crushed to death, in a mound of metallic objects. Every one of the bones of her body were fractured. Witness claimed that she was having some sort of fight with two men, one American the other Egyptian, both had large amounts of metal clinging to them somehow. During their exchange, she mentioned a "Lord DIO". When she regained consciousness and was coherent enough for questioning, she denies remembering what happened. Alessi claimed similar."

By this point, Gelato was taken in by the information and sat himself down on what was usually Giorno's desk chair. He furrowed his brows as he went over what he'd been told in his head before he responded. "Giorno's father was still in Cairo four years after Giorno's birth. With Stand users fighting for him..." His eyes lit up at the meaning of that. "Then, there's a good chance that Giorno has a Stand."

Sorbet nodded.

"We have to tell Risotto then." Gelato stated. He shook his head and gave the other hitman a knowing, wry, smile. "He's not going to like it."

"If it will help keep Giorno safe, he'll do it."

"Should I call, Risotto, now?" He questioned. The blond tilted his head forward pointedly towards the collection of evidence. "You know he'll question this until it's undeniable."

"I know. Call him." Sorbet unwaveringly answered.

Gelato stood up from the chair, but paused before and then asked. "Oh, did you gather more information on the La Meravigli meeting places?"

To this, a look of realization flashed in Sorbet's eyes. He ran a hand down his face and shook his head.

"You haven't found anything?" Gelato asked in surprise.

"No, I have something but I got caught up searching for information on Giorno's father. I should have focus on our squadron's assignment, but my intrigue got the better of me." Sorbet took a drink of his black coffee then shook his head. Gelato took him from his moment of self-deprecation with a kiss. Once over brief surprise, Sorbet willingly returned the gesture. Put at ease he listened to his love's assurance.

"Don't worry, it'll be enough for Risotto. He and I, both know you'll have those bastard's number before the end of this week." Gelato went over to Sorbet's side and traced his collar line with a finger. "Now, how about after I call Risotto. We go and take a quick shower? After sitting all night at the desk, I'm sure you could use a hot one to unwind."

Sorbet rubbed his stiff neck. "Truthfully, I really could use one." He got up and gifted a kiss to the cheek to his love. "I'll get the shower ready." One at a time, as he stood before Gelato, he began to unbutton his light, blue-grey dress shirt. He stopped right at the edge of his chest before he turned away. Enticed, Gelato grinned at the allure presented to him. He watched intently as Sorbet began to leave. Just as he left the room, he added, "Don't take too long."

Once his footsteps headed upstairs to their shared bathroom, Gelato melted back against the desk. Simple as the words were, Sorbet said them in a way that sparked an excitement in him. He was the one to suggest the shower, but now Sorbet was the one pulling him in. He loved that about him. Reserved but took the lead. Eager to join Sorbet, Gelato went off to go make the phone call.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_Sorry for the delay. Thing in IRL got in the way. Then, this took a lot of fact checking and a rewrite. I have the next part underway already, and I'm sure you all can see where this is going. Ahead of time but it fits._


	9. Chapter 8 Golden Part 2

_"Risotto?" _

_The old wooden door creaked in protest. A beam of light shoved its way through the small opening. Then something obstructed it, the form of young child. There was a gasp before the door was pushed all the way open. A halt. The door was quietly shut. _

_He felt the weight of her, Arborio –the light of his life, climb onto his creaky bed. Where, in the corner of it, he sat with his knees up to his chest, staring out at the opposite wall. A small candle on his bedside table provided only dim lighting, not even enough to illuminate the opposite wall. Not that it mattered, there was nothing but a worn, off-white, wall to look at. Such was the theme of his small room, worn out and devoid of decoration. The size of the room, narrow and cramped off in the corner of the house. One window that only showed a pale white fence adding to the enclosed air of the space. _

_The bed whined as Arborio shifted closer, to inspect the reason for her being here. A prominent bruise on the cheek. Others dotted the along his arms. He knew these were painful to even look at for her, but he didn't so much as a stir and continued to stare out at nothing. Arborio carefully reached out and nudged her cousin, her brother's, shoulder. _

_"Risotto?" His body responded to the force pushed against it and shifted. "Risotto, what happened?" _

_He didn't respond. _

_A moment of silence before the sound of a plastic lid being unscrewed. Soft fingers applied cool ointment to the tender bruises that decorated his arms. _

_"You'll get in trouble for this." _

_"Only if mother catches me." Arborio answered softly, voice just above a murmur. Gradually her application of the salve slowed. It must've been painful for her see the damage done to him. "What happened? Why did she do it this time?" _

_"Same reason as always. I did something wrong." Risotto's answered, words empty and hollow. He didn't acknowledge the pained look his sister gave him. Despite the pain he felt, he had become numb to it. Detachment came easily to him now. Something he had to learn in order to keep going. Protection in the form mental distance. _

_Because I'm not her real son. His mind dutifully reminded him. For a time, he tried to deny it...that time had passed when he heard it from his aunt's own mouth, several times. _

_"Why am I here?" He muttered, tone dull and dismal. Eyes vacant, still not matching the gaze of his sister's blue ones. He wasn't wanted here. Why did he have to be here? Why did his parents have to die? It wasn't fair. "Why couldn't I have gone with my parents..." _

_A gentle hug disrupted focus on his dismal quandary. "Because we're meant to be siblings." Arborio pulled back and smiled at him. "We're supposed to be together. I'll always be with you and you'll always be with me. It-" _

* * *

The sound of the home phone ringing brought Giorno to a small living room. As he stood into the cusp of the area he looked back towards Risotto's room, which was furthest down the hall. It was a bit odd that he hadn't answered it himself, he was usually very prompt. However, he had been working very hard on this big hit La Squadra had been given. Checking in with Sorbet nearly every day since and speaking with other members of Passione to get more infomation. Due to this, Giorno assumed that he was just sleeping more heavily and went to answer the call.

"Hello?" Giorno asked into the phone.

The sound of Gelato's voice responded. "Giorno?" He sounded confused. Likely having, understandably, expected for Risotto to answer the call. "Is Risotto still asleep?"

Giorno glanced back to the hall. "I'm not sure. I just got up. Do you need me to wake him?"

"Ah, no. If he's still asleep he must've been overworking himself again. He does that occasionally." Gelato's voice perked up with amusement. "You've more than likely noticed this by now, he takes his work very seriously. Bit of a perfectionist honestly."

Giorno thought back to the several occasions of Risotto spending days on casing for a hit or collecting information. This included sleepless nights, sometimes days in a row. Giorno had learned how to work the coffee machine in the kitchen to help him through it. At least in a little way. As expected, he liked his coffee black. Giorno replied simply. "Yeah, I have."

"Be hard not to, he's almost as bad as my Sorbet." Gelato amused continued before he returning to the reason for his call. "Could you check for me? If he's not awake just let him know I called."

Phone left beside the base, Giorno stood before Risotto's door shortly after. To his brief surprise, the light was on. Carefully he creaked open the door and poked his head in. Risotto's room matched his style, in that it was mostly themed in black and only had a few other dark colored hues. While he was generally frugal with the rest of the home, he did have quiet the collection of merchandise of various metal bands. Risotto himself was sitting on the end of his bed, eyes fixed on a framed photo he was staring down at.

The sight made him curious as to why he looked to be so deep in thought, but the current matter of the call caused Giorno to put that aside-for the time being. He didn't want to break his train of thought, but he didn't want to keep Gelato waiting either. Carefully, Giorno spoke up, "Risotto."

Pulled from his thoughts, Risotto looked up towards the door. Briefly, he seemed faintly surprised by the boy's presence. He glanced at the clock next to his bedside. His eyes widened a bit at the time. Looking back to Giorno, Risotto responded, "Sorry, Giorno, I got lost in thought. I'll get breakfast ready."

"Oh no, I'm fine." Giorno corrected. He'd just gotten up recently and could easily have made cereal for himself. He pointed towards the living room. "Gelato is on the phone and wants to talk to you."

Giorno watched as Risotto stood up and put the frame back beside his LED clock. "Must have found some new information." He said as he walked out of the room. While he walked down the hall Risotto asked, "What do you want to eat, Giorno?"

"I'll make myself cereal." Giorno opted. Risotto took the answer with no argument and went to pick up the phone. As he went into the kitchenette off to the side of the living room, Giorno inwardly hopped that the call would have some news about his biological father. Gelato hadn't said anything about it but he still held out hope. As he poured his cereal into the white bowl, Giorno kept his ears on the call. He couldn't make out what Gelato was saying. This was odd because he wasn't too far from the phone. A few feet at best.

"Any news Gelato?" Risotto questioned. There was a momentary pause with Risotto occasionally uttering a hum as he listened. Eventually a look of surprise crossed Risotto's face. His expression tensed before he exhaled through his nose. "We'll be over once we finished eating." Gelato spoke again and Risotto grunted. "See you then."

Risotto hung the phone up. He looked down at the phone base for a long moment, before he turned to Giorno. The hitman's posture seemed tense. Whatever Gelato had said, he wasn't happy with. "Giorno, after you finish eating, we'll be heading to Sorbet and Gelato's home."

"Okay." Giorno paused. Unsure if he should prod, he hesitated a moment. Hopefulness led him to give in, "...What did he say?"

"He found information on your father."

* * *

Giorno could hardly sit still during the car ride. Finally! At long last he was going to learn more about his father! He wondered what Sorbet had found. Where he was, what he did for a job, last sighting- anything, he'd take anything. Excited as he was, Giorno reminded himself that it could be something small. Expectations shouldn't get too high. He didn't want to inadvertently dimmish the work that Sorbet had put it into finding the information. Regardless, it'd be progress.

During the drive over to Sorbet and Gelato's home; however, Giorno couldn't help but notice the tention in the car. Risotto's silence seemed more stone hided than usual. He hadn't gotten perfect at reading the adult yet, but he had figured particular airs to him. At least, when he was tense about something.

Had Sorbet found out something bad? It was the only thing Giorno could think of. His excitement was effectively tempered.

For the most part, Giorno managed to quell the fretful anticipation in his mind. Though, his heart was another story. It anxiously fluttered away in chest without reprieve. His attempts to calm it were vaguely effective. The best he could do was distract himself by looking out the window, but if his eyes strayed back to the car's interior it'd be there to remind him of his anxiety.

At least he wasn't shaking.

Giorno could tell the Risotto knew he was anxious. Of course, he did. Thankfully, he said nothing to it as they got out of the car.

Gelato answered promptly, but the wait felt longer with his heartrate taking over his focus. He managed to return the welcoming smile shown to him. Giorno had hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt, but that apparently wasn't the case.

"Nervous, hm?" Gelato mused after a brief exchange of greetings. His noticed caused Giorno to quickly straighten up. A faint flush of embarrassment gave him his answer. Gelato chuckled at the endearing sight before ushering the pair inside. "You are adorable. Come on in, Sorbet is waiting downstairs for us."

* * *

The secluded air of the downstairs meeting room seemed more oppressive than usual. Giorno sat on the couch while the pair of Sorbet and Gelato sat on their usual chair. Or rather, Sorbet was seated while Gelato leaned over the back, propped up on his arms. Risotto stood beside the chair his posture still tense. Giorno wasn't sure why, but it seemed like the three adults were eyeing him. It didn't seem bad, more like they were looking him over for something. He was certain he was clean but...it made him shift a little as he sat and wiped the side of his face just to be sure.

"First, allow me to get the disappointing news out of the way." Sorbet began. He sighed faintly as the boy's head drooped. There was no way around it, he continued, "I'm afraid I haven't been able to find the current status of your father- only that he was indeed in Egypt for some years. DIO, does seem to be his first name, but the validity of Brando I am uncertain of. Cairo was, in fact, the last place he was located- primarily out of circumstantial evidence I uncovered. I found no official record of residence."

"Circumstantial?" Giorno echoed, pulled out of disappointment for the time being.

"There seemed to be stand users working for him. Odd happenings, indicative of stand battles, were occurring in Cairo and leading towards it in a trail. One of the possible stand users mentioned him as "Lord DIO". I haven't been able to determine the identities of who they were fighting but it has something to do with the Speedwagon organization. An American foundation focused on medical research and environmental conservation." Sorbet hunched himself into thoughtful posture, chin balanced on intertwined hands. "I also can't say why all these stand battles were happening, in all honesty I haven't found much as of yet, but that isn't why I requested leader to bring you here today.

I believe that there is a chance that you have a stand." The look of surprise on Giorno's face prompted Sorbet to explain his reasoning. "Stand users are drawn to one another. The mere fact that you've ended up in all of our lives, in of itself, gives chance enough. If your father DIO had stand users working under him then he must've had one of his own. So, I'm going to administer a simple test."

With the chance of having a stand of his own placed before him, Giorno straightened up. "A test? What do I have to do?"

Sorbet tilted his head to the side, a faint but notable smile on his lips. "You don't need to do anything." He held a hand out to the side of him. "All I am going to do is summon my stand. If you are able to see anything- anything at all, then that means you have a stand or are developing one. Ready?"

Giorno nodded curtly. His posture straightened, shoulders squared, eyes focused.

"Very well then."

At first, it seemed as if nothing had happened. Then, the air around Sorbet's shoulder began to shimmer as if light was being reflected off of something. Whatever it was, the thing was about the size of a dog. Eyes widened, Giorno keyed in on the apparition in hopes to better see it. This seemed to work, to some effect, he could pick out light blues and purples and a vague, indeterminate, shape.

"Ah, yes! There's something over your shoulder!" Giorno exclaimed, amazed by the hazy image. His hands enthusiastically waved around in the air above his corresponding shoulder.

"Wonderful!" Gelato cheered with a loud clap. The boy beamed a bright smile at him before he went back to focusing on where the stand had manifested. Gelato turned his attention over to Risotto. "Should we try and instruct him to manifest his stand?"

Hearing this, Giorno looked to his caretaker hopefully.

Risotto closed his eyes a moment. He nodded. There was no point in pulling back now. "Manifesting a stand is rather simple. It is best done under pressure of some kind, adrenaline rush, self-defense, things of that nature. In your case, try focusing on memories along those lines. Once you manage to summon your stand it'll become instinctual, reflexive."

Memories that trigger self-defense or an adrenaline rush...Giorno felt his body tense as his mind immediately flung his focus to several, far too many, memories. His step-father looming over him, belt ready to strike him. Other times it was a hand and yet still other times it was something else. His body instinctively seized up and trembled. Natural reflex was to pull away from these memories, focus on something more pleasant. Giorno, however, wouldn't allow the past to impede his progress. No, he pushed through. If this was what he needed to endure to awaken his stand then he'd endure. Memories were nothing like going through the actual thing. He focused hard as he could to make it almost real.

This power, whatever it would be, would be a valuable tool to achieve his goal.

Visions of someone long gone were a small price to pay.

"Giorno..." Risotto uttered, almost to himself. He'd picked up that when the boy trembled it meant his stress was reaching its threshold. Judging by how badly the boy was shaking now- it was concerning. He had little stomach for the idea of him being keyed-in on by the rest of the gang, Polpo had already taken notice of him, a Stand would make him a pending member. He readied to say something, but held back when Sorbet caught his sight.

His subordinate said nothing, but he knew what he was thinking.

This was for Giorno's safety.

He put his ideals aside.

No sooner than he did a golden aura bloomed around the child. This surprised Risotto. He hadn't expected Giorno to get a grasp on it so soon.

From nothingness a stand began to take form. Like many, it mirrored the form of its master, taking the physical appearance of child. The top of its head was like a scarab, small angel wings on the shoulder, and several ladybug emblems dotted its body. The most stunning aspect was the stand practically shined with how golden it was. In stark contrast it's lens-like eyes were crimson red.

Colors that were now reflected in Giorno. Black to blond, green to red.

Risotto had no words for what he'd just witness. His usual stoic nature hid his speechlessness well. No one noticed.

Somehow, things felt different now.

_You are now an official member_

_Of the New Power Generation_  
_Welcome to The Dawn_


End file.
